


Marked For Death

by fleurs du mal (shinsou)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Forbidden Love, Healthy Relationships, Living Together, Pining, Romance, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Love, to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinsou/pseuds/fleurs%20du%20mal
Summary: Monthly updates (i'm dying, send help in the form of comments) ||| Zaraki Kenpachi had never begged for his life and he would never beg. But once, just once in his life he begged, and grieved, and screamed and just once the heavens decided to listen to this man’s plead. However, the heavens were always cruel and rarely merciful. Was there a crueler thing than to be merciful?  ||| 60k words description of Kenpachi suffering, now with reasons for the rating





	1. Alas, My Love, If I Could Make You Live

**Author's Note:**

> … where the curtain falls another rises  
> If I am wrong then strike me for my sins  
> But I believe our acts and thin disguises  
> Where but a prologue to what now begins  
> \- "Goodbye", Emilie Autumn

                                                         

 

                Zaraki Kenpachi was not a man who would succumb to the games of the mind. He saw things as they were. When he first caught a glimpse of her in the woods, he did something he had never done in his life – he fell into a state of feverish denial. A pale and soft face, a coil of back hair… and she was gone. No! It was not her, it was a white doe and a black crow flew by, obscuring his sight, making him see ghosts of ghosts. Her form had been a figment of his imagination. Kenpachi had always known sanity was a worthless thing. For all he remembered he had never been truly sane. But she was dead; he had killed her. His sword had pierced her chest, a bloody flower blooming on her breasts and on her mouth.

            One glimpse was enough – seeing was believing; he could not stay away from the forest. It was spring now, the weather getting warmer, but the Winter war had left him cold, cold as he had never been before. His wanderings became frequent, noticeable to his subordinates, yet he could not find her. Of course he could not – she was dead; he had killed her. Therefore, when the wind blew a long black hair into his face he dismissed it as a spider web. Truth was he missed her – she had been the one who had changed him forever, the first constant in his life; he missed her sword in his throat, the ache of his scar to the sound of her voice.

            When he finally saw the woman in the woods, he was certain that the murdered haunted their murderers. She was always there, in life and in death, in day and night. Kenpachi tore his eyepatch away, ignoring the pain that followed, as if a thousand little hooks were gnawing at his flesh. He needed to see her with both his eyes, just as he saw her last time.

            Blinded, he wondered if he had gone too long without light. An apparition, she was lying on her side on a moss-covered rock, bare as her name day, looking as nothing less than a forest nymph, an otherworldly creature. Her long black hair was sprawled around her and managed to shield her chest from his prying eyes. Black dirt stained her hands and feet, blue bruises marked her ivory skin but she seemed untroubled in her sleep. Or was it sleep? If she was dead, then Death dared not lay a finger on her. The captain knew she was a monster just like him, but she was named the most beautiful woman in the Soul society, so different from him – the ragged, scarred, giant beast of a man he was, all muscles, sinews and bones.

            Kenpachi had to get closer. She could not be real. The ghost of a ghost. The soft forest turf engulfed his every step as he approached her, captivated by her image and drowning in the memories of her dying in his arms. Dying by his hands. Could she be dead now too? Did the most beautiful woman make the most beautiful corpse? He could hear himself begging her, time and time again, but was it centuries years ago or mere weeks ago? Was it now?

            He put his palm over hers – it was cool but not cold. Not a corpse’s hand. The touch, however, startled her out of her peaceful slumber and she leapt to her feet, trying to run away.

            “Yachiru!” Kenpachi used the name he came to know her by as he held her wrist firmly. How could a name carry so much weight yet slip past his lips so easily, in a mere breath? An accursed name, since they both left him. Or was he the cursed one? Perhaps he was the _oni_ his bankai turned him into.

            Retsu trashed around, like a captured wild animal, her hair flowing in the air like a swarm of hell butterflies yet it was her face that shook the captain. The expression of sheer horror, pain and fear. No, she was not supposed to be afraid. Of nothing, she was fearless. Most of all she was not supposed to be afraid of him. He was the one who cried when he was about to die to her. He was the only one who never feared her. However, he was afraid now. Afraid to lose her again, now that he had found her. Afraid not to hurt her again. The man could not sense a drop of reiatsu in her. Did he indeed held the ghost of a ghost?

            “I don’t want to hurt you.” Zaraki swallowed at his choice of words. Had he ever wanted to truly hurt her? He claimed to have hated her; perhaps, just perhaps, in order to show her some of the suffering she had been inflicting on him during all those years, but never, never...

            He had wanted only to fight her, to win over her; to know that he had grown strong, as strong as she had been. He could hear how his jagged sword had gone through her sternum, slicing through the bone like a saw, piercing her windpipe as she had drawn in one last breath before the blood had started overflowing from her mouth. His blade had exited through her back and he had felt the weight of her body on his weapon. In one swift motion, the man had pulled out the sword and bone and steel had met again to produce the most silent but deafening sound. He remembered suddenly feeling sick.

            Death was supposed to be gruesome. Ugly. Some men shat their pants in its face. Other panicked at the sight of their wounds and tried to plug them up, as if their hands could stop the red liquid from seeping out. They never succeeded. Some cried and begged for their lives. She did not. Instead, he did. Going into a fight one had to expect death, to desire it upon his rival. One had no right to beg his opponent to live.

            “I’m not going to hurt you.” It changed nothing. Retsu still tried to yank her wrist out of his grip to the point she was about to break it. If his hand were a trap made of steel, she would have torn her hand away. But he could not let her go. His other hand reached out and, taking advantage of the differences in their physique, caught her by the shoulder, pulling her closer to him in a devouring hold. What did ghosts of ghosts say? She said nothing, nor did she scream; she tossed and turned in his arms with the desperation of a captured beast. There were no accusations, no desire for vengeance, just her heavy breathing as she tried to escape. He could not let her go; not again.

            Kenpachi let her trash and hiss, hit and kick, bite and scratch him with her broken nails until she became exhausted or saw that no harm would come from him. When she finally gave up, going limp in his arms, he knelt down on one knee, supporting her upper body.

            “Retsu…”

            She reacted to the sound of his voice, looking him in the eyes, but words had no other effect on her, as if she was deaf and mute. Could ghosts of ghosts go mad? For a moment, his eyes roamed over her face and body, seeking the answers for the questions she could not answer. Her tar-black hair was reaching just below her thighs and it framed her pale face as beautifully as ever.

            Retsu stared at him with eyes full of fear and ferocity, glazed over by the rage. She had never cried, not even when she was dying. Now there was a wet trace down her face, left by a single tear that smeared and cleared the dirt on its path before reaching her jawline. The clean trace perfectly mirrored the bottom part of his scar, the one she inflicted upon his face. But there was hers – slightly above where the groove that went between her breasts started; a second fresher flower had withered over the old one. The flesh was twisted and gnarly, red, pink and pearly white, almost translucent. Kenpachi wanted to put his palm over it, to heal it somehow as she would, but it was a power he did not possess.

            He took one of the overlapped ends of his loose kosode, taking it off in a single motion and covered her with it. He picked her up then, her flesh soft in his arms. Retsu let herself to be carried away by him, cradled to his chest. Distrust filled her eyes still, her small hands clasped over her scar. It hurt Kenpachi to see her like this. Weak. A harmless monster.

            If someone had seen them along the road, they would have thought fairy tales were true – a monster was carrying his bride, his prey to his lair. The house was empty. He still wondered why he kept the place now that Yachiru, the pink-haired, mischievous, always craving sweets Yachiru was gone. He could just live in the barracks with the other soldiers. Perhaps he hoped she could still return. The captain placed the woman on a pillow with a gentleness he did not think he possessed. It was hard for him to deprive himself of the sensation of her, as if she would disappear the moment he lost contact with her. Retsu sat and hugged her folded legs, letting the kosode slide away, leaving her bare once more. She did not seem to mind her nakedness, no more than a wild animal would. Her hair shrouded her and pooled on the floor. She still watched him with eyes full of wariness and defiance. Kenpachi wanted to talk to her, to give her comfort but how could you soothe the person you murdered.

            He put a sheet in the large wooden bathtub to shield her from any stray splinters and filled it with hot water. Returning to the room, he offered her a hand to help her stand up. Retsu simply stared at him, seemingly weighing his actions for a thousandth time; still, her thoughts were a mystery to him.

            “Come with me. You need a bath.” She winced at the sound of his voice but took his hand rather on instinct than because of his words. As she carefully stood up, still weak from exhaustion and agitation, the woman stumbled forward. Kenpachi caught her before she could fall and helped her straighten up. He and led her to the bathroom held her tighter. Her feet left black footprints on the floor.

            When Retsu saw the water, she looked at the man as if he was mad.

            “There is nothing to be afraid of.” Afraid. She should not be afraid of anything. Kenpachi submerged his hand in the water and swayed it around. “See?” He brought his palm to her face and washed it clean.

            “It’s warm and pleasant, isn’t it?” The pain was evident in her eyes but she lifted her foot and with his help got into the large tub, submerging her body in the clear water. He let her relax for a while, hoping that she would start washing herself so he would not have to touch her, but her hands merely swayed in the water.

            Kenpachi began with her hands and arms, taking each one of them and rubbing the dirt off with his own hands while she watched him, not making a single sound. It had been more than a century since he had last bathed Yachiru and she never stayed put. She never stayed silent either. ‘Ken-chan, your hands are too rough!’, ‘You’re scrubbing too hard, Ken-chan!’, ‘Ken-chan, you’re pulling my hair!’. He always replied with an irritated ‘Shut up, brat’ and always tried to be gentler. Soon enough they had met Ikkaku and Yumichika and sometimes the latter would take the duty of bathing the little girl. Eventually, the pink-haired child learned to wash herself without the help of his calloused hands.

            Were they still so rough? Perhaps, even more now that Kenpachi was a soldier and trained from dawn until dusk. Still, Retsu did not protest. She moved like he wanted her to, obediently stretching out her arms and turning them slightly so he could get every spot.

            Then came her back. The man grabbed a roughspun washcloth and swept her hair to the side, uncovering a ghastly exit wound. It was located a few centimetres higher than the scar on her chest, clearly showing the upwards motion with which he impaled her. It made him nauseous. The man could not tear his eyes from it as he scrubbed her back.

            Then he moved to her feet and legs and silently worked his way up, catching a close glimpse of the black wiry hairs that grew at the juncture of her thighs. Kenpachi felt his mouth going dry with the unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment, but she did not seem to notice anything unnatural about this. His jaw clenched as his hand brushed against her core, sinking in the softness of the flesh there, and he cursed himself when he felt his cock stir. The male quickly withdrew his hand as if burnt – this poor excuse for washing would have to do; he was not a man as good as he wanted to be. Her soft flesh succumbed to the pressure of his calloused fingers and the rough washcloth as he continued up the curves of her hips and stomach, up her ample breasts and small shoulders.

            The scar he had left her bothered him much more than the reactions of his body. The only dent in her porcelain skin, it was a terrible mark that sat beneath her collarbone. Kenpachi dropped the washcloth in the now turbid water and reached out to brush his fingers against it, as if to confirm that this really is her and that he really did this to her, not once but twice. The first time he did not regret, he was a child, and she was an unscrupulous criminal, which sought only a challenge from him; she made him what he was, she made the blood in his veins boil as if it was her bankai inside him, ready to melt his flesh off his bones with burning rage and bloodlust. The second time was the sole definition of madness – rage, hatred, pain. Loss.

            The sudden movement in the water and the feeling of her fingers on his skin interrupted his thoughts. Retsu jerked up to her feet, sending the water splashing around the tub, over the edges and onto the captain. Water was dripping down her bare body as she was holding his wrist with more strength than he thought was left in her. _Do not touch it_ , her fiery eyes said, looking down on him as if he was a beggar and she was an empress, _you have no right to touch it_. He rubbed his palm against his own scar; it had not hurt since he drove his sword through her small body. He bore that pain for years, decades, centuries and the moment it was gone it left a terrible emptiness. Kenpachi could not fight the urge to ask her.

            “Don’t you recognize me?” he feverishly demanded answers but the woman only let go of his wrist and covered her scar with her palms. Silence was filling the room, interrupted only by the sound of dripping water. Then he realized – it was his voice that caused her pain. In return, he felt none. She did not speak.

            “Forgive me.” He spoke again, involuntarily, briefly pondering what he was begging forgiveness for. Murdering her was beyond it. Kenpachi bit his tongue.

            Retsu sat down in the tub again, leaving him uncertain if she understood him or if she was able to read the remorse in his features. Kenpachi took a bar of rough lye soap and started washing her hair. After it foamed up nicely, he made her stand, supporting her by holding her forearm and rubbed the soap all over her body. The woman stood still as he poured water over her, rinsing the soap from her hair and skin. He helped her out of the tub, her wet hair clinging to her body, making her look like a mute siren. Kenpachi wrapped her with a sheet and led her away, still unsure what had happened or what was he to do.


	2. Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My crush called me last night, have this chapter on me!

            Kenpachi aired out Yachiru’s room and let her have it despite hesitating over leaving her to sleep alone. _What else am I supposed to do?_ She had spent months in the wilderness all by herself. It was safe here; with the strongest Shinigami sleeping in the room next to hers surely nothing could come to harm her, the captain thought as he was rolling out Yachiru’s futon and changing the sheets with clean ones.

            Retsu was too tall and buxom for her kimonos and too small for his but he gave her one of his better changes of clothes, consisting of a new nagajuban and a clean dull green yukata. He had to dress her the first time, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he ghosted over the bare skin of her chest, tightly overlapping the yukata’s ends. She would like her scar to be covered. The robes trailed behind her and hid her hands completely, making her look like a child, even more so that her feet were bare.

            While dressing her was easy, trying to comb her hair proved to be a nightmare. Even Yachiru did not use to put up such a fight. The man tried several times until she finally let him. Unohana’s long black hair was full of tangles and despite Kenpachi’s efforts to be gentle, she ran off at least a couple times and even scratched his face to blood once, leaving three red lines upon his cheek. The male could only be happy he had cut her nails before that. He found her again and continued combing her hair until her tresses were smooth. If she was stubborn he was twice so.

            At least Retsu seemed to like his cooking. The first time they sat together to sup, halfway through his meal Kenpachi noticed that she was not eating. Her hand was fidgeting with the chopsticks in front of her. He lifted up his own pair, moving them, showing her how to hold them. The woman adjusted her hold and repeated his motions but when she tried to grasp a piece of tamagoyaki, it fell from their grip again and again. The captain held the piece with his chopsticks and brought it to her lips, urging her to open her mouth. She did, albeit with some reluctance and he slid it carefully past her lips. He proceeded to feed her that first evening, losing himself in the sheer tranquillity that they shared in the dim-lit kitchen.

            When it was time for bed, Kenpachi once more faltered about leaving her alone. Perhaps he could still move the futon to his room, place it in the far end of it, away enough from his bedding so he would not disturb her too much while still being within his reach.

            In the end, he decided against it. She had spent months in the wilderness, alone, out of her mind, wounded. She had never needed him. Perhaps he could allow sleeping in the same room, if they had been friends but they never had been. Retsu hated him and he hated her in return. If she had not… It did not matter now. He had put his strength behind murdering her and it was a miracle she was still alive.

            The captain locked the front door and took the key in his hand. He heard her light steps behind him. If it did not break his heart, he would have smiled – so easily she had grown attached to him, unable to be left alone for more than a few minutes. All of this after half a century of running away from him.  

            Kenpachi caught her forearm and led her to Yachiru’s room. The air was somewhat stale but the nights were still too cold to leave the window open for longer. The room seemed not so different from when she left. He had tidied up the colouring books and the pencils the little girl liked to scatter on the floor and put them in the closet together with her clothes and other small stuff she owned. The hope he tried to hold onto waned with every day that passed. He knelt down and pushed the covers to the side.

            “Lay down.” the captain said but the woman did not react, just staring at him with that somewhat wary, half-sad but curious look she kept, as if he was speaking to her in some foreign tongue. It was useless; his words caused her nothing but pain. Kenpachi grabbed her hands and pulled her down. She gracefully dropped to her knees.

            “Wait.” he stopped her from sitting down more with his motions than with his words. His hands fumbled with the belt of the yukata until the knot came off and he stripped the garment, leaving her in the nagajuban. The man adjusted the white robe, making sure that her scar was covered, and with a push on her upper arm made her sit, then lie down. He carelessly folded the green yukata in two and placed it on the floor beside her futon.  

            Zaraki could not help but marvel how calm Retsu was, lying down, her eyes closed shut, sleep already crawling behind her eyelids. A tiring day it was but she was safe now. It seemed to him that she looked much less like the wildling he had found in the forest mere hours ago and more like herself – gone was the feral fear; she was clean and dressed in new clothes, her hair combed, nails trimmed and belly full. Although none of those things could cure her of her state, he hoped that at least she was feeling well.   

            Well, he was here already, why not do the work? Kenpachi pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked her in. When he turned away, ready to get up and leave, he felt fingers catching his hand and looked back at the woman. Fuck, how could he possibly leave her? She understood nothing now, would it matter that much if they slept in the same room? He knew he was not one to oppose temptation nor be tempted. When he wanted something, he just took it.

            Yet, a sin almost too heavy to bear lied upon his shoulders. A crime. Kenpachi touched her fingers with his other hand and she let him go. He turned off the kerosene lamp and after he saw Retsu close her eyes again, exited the room quietly and entered his, leaving the doors slightly open so she could find him easily if need be.

            The captain quickly changed for bed in a pair of breeches and lied down, putting the key under his pillow. In the quiet of the night, he could swear nothing has changed. Maybe it hasn’t. Maybe he had gone mad during those days he wandered through the forest, losing his mind instead of his way. And yet Kenpachi did not know if her presence was the cause of his madness or her absence. In her presence he never questioned is sanity; even in the years he had spent in the Gotei 13, he had sworn to kill her only in her absence. When Retsu had been standing across the hall, slightly to his right all he could do was stare at her absent-mindedly.

            Was he dreaming still or he never really fell asleep? The hour before dawn always made one feel as if they inhabited a strange world that belonged neither to reality nor to some dreaming state. It was a rarity for him to wake up in the middle of the night and it would have taken him only a few minutes to fall asleep again if his head was not pounding with dreams too vivid and yet long forgotten. The odd shape he felt through the pillow convinced him it was all real.

            Retsu.

            This early in April the mornings were always chilly no matter how warm the days were. Once he threw off the covers, the cold stuck to his bare skin like a gluttonous leech and made the hairs on his arms and chest rise. The captain got up and walked across the room, holding one hand to the side of his head. The pain was so strong it was making him feel sick. He wondered why he bothered with getting up when he knew that he had run out of that bitter powder he got from the Fourth. He carefully slid the door open, not knowing if she was a deep sleeper or awoke easily just as he did. In the Zaraki district those who slept too deeply never woke up.

            The man though a look would be enough – taking in her form, he found out that she slept so gracefully and serenely, surrounded by the comfort of the soft bedding, one of her hands resting on her stomach while the other seemed to be under the covers. He further opened the door and entered the room, aware of every deafening sound the wooden boards made, and got closer.

            It was not a dream. Retsu really lived, not because of him but despite him.  

            Kenpachi knelt down to adjust the covers and saw her open her eyes. Shit, he never wanted to wake her up in that ungodly hour. He quickly adjusted the blankets, covering her arm and shoulder but was unable to leave. The raging pulsing in his skull made him sick with vertigo and he would blame the following weakness on it.

            His hand went first to her face, sweeping the stray hairs away while she watched him with an emotion he could not read. She was the only one who had ever made him sad. Kenpachi bend down and embraced her, heart to heart, releasing a tortured breath.  

            “I’ve fucking missed you so… You’ll never know how much you mean to me, even after all that…” he whispered, unable to speak up without his voice cracking. He had told her back there in Mugen. He hated her but he worshipped her too. Retsu did not say anything back then nor now. He was a foolish man, truly, to hold the woman he had mauled while she understood nothing and did not even move. The last this he wanted was to scare her with his closeness. He had to go back to sleep and hope that this headache would go away. Kenpachi could not allow himself to be indisposed when she depended on him. Just one more moment, one last desperate squeeze.

            Hesitantly, her arms wrapped around him, her warm hands finding a place to rest on his back. He could accept it as an act of consolation but it only made him sadder. No, he could not allow himself to break down. The man took a deep breath. It hurt so much and he was feeling dizzy again, as if his mind had turned to dark water.

            A couple of days passed in silence. Kenpachi noticed some faint but fresh bruises on her arms and knew that he had been too rough with her. Her wrist had bruised badly, turning a deep purple, almost black colour. He suspected it might be sprained, so he decided to examine it as best as he could and gave it a careful twist. She hissed in pain and hit him but her wrist seemed fine. He wished there was something he could do about it, put some ointment on it, but he had none. The captain left the wounds and bruises to pain him, to heal slowly, to mark his body, his skin becoming damaged, rough and discoloured.

            Ikkaku’s visit was not unexpected but it had escaped the captain’s mind. Ever since he had found her, his usually forgotten tedious duties now as if never existed. When the lieutenant showed up with a stack of papers the surprise on his commander’s face did not catch his attention.

            “Oi, captain, please call in the next time you decide to take a leave. You got us worried.”

            Kenpachi only stared at him annoyed and angry, as if he had interrupted him while doing something important, and said nothing.

            “Geez. Anyway, I have some reports for you to sign—” Ikkaku noticed a form moving in the back of the room.

            _A woman?_

            The large man quickly read his subordinate’s expression and tensed, standing tall as if to block his line of view, but he saw her – curiously, and at the same time diffidently, peeking, clad in Kenpachi’s yukata that was way too big and trailed after her. Her black hair was freely falling over her shoulders and down to her thighs; her grey almond-shaped eyes were lively and shining but somehow absent.

            _A spectre?_

            The late captain of the fourth division. If his captain had not reacted like this Ikkaku would have thought she was really a ghost. Whatever words rose in his throat, he knew it was better to keep them to himself. He silently handed Kenpachi the papers.

            “Captain… If you need any help, you know you can count on me and Yumichika.” The bald man turned around, leaving. “I know it’s not my place to say, but you need to inform the Commander. You can’t keep her a secret.” Kenpachi knew he was right. He had to tell Kyoraku. Maybe Isane too. He had told her of Retsu’s death; it was only fair she hears from him of her life.

            “I will in due time.” The thought had passed his mind but he had always driven it away. “Come with Yumichika to pick up the reports. Tell him about her, I don’t want his shrieking to startle her.”

            “Roger that.” The lieutenant waved his hand goodbye and walked away.

             Ikkaku returned the next day with Yumichika who dared to give a few disapproving looks, which the captain noticed but dismissed. He did not want to say those words; he did not want to lose her so soon after she had answered his pleads. The captain put on his uniform and threw his haori over his shoulder. He disliked having duties, he detested the bureaucratic part of his captaincy and now duty was clawing at his back, whispering in his ears. He had to. She resembled a bird with a broken wing, one he had taken home but he was unable to nurse back to health. He knew only to scar and murder.

            The weight of leadership made Kyoraku look older, solemn expressions invading his easy-going demeanour. He had lost his mentor, his best friend, and gave orders to one of his oldest friends to fight another captain to the death. It was always complicated between the three of them, the oldest captains of the Gotei 13. He thought he had made peace with the notion that they were going to die a violent death but he never imagined he would be the last one living.

            When Kenpachi entered his office with a haunted look on his face, the weight of his first order as a commander came down on him. They had won the war and yet they had all lost so much. It was a miracle war did not make monsters of them all.

            “You have asked for a private meeting, Captain Zaraki?” enquired the commander with the half-formal, half-laidback tone he had adopted. His eyes glanced at the documents in from of him one last time before he firmly set them on the man before him. Kenpachi’s expression remained the same. The seated man thought he had not heard him but the captain of the 11th squad spoke.

            “She is alive.”

            His voice was loud but hoarse as if the words were clawing on his throat, refusing to leave his mouth. _Her?_ There could be only one person whose name he would refuse to say in this childish manner but this was impossible. Had he finally gone mad? Many warriors danced on the edge of madness when engaged in battle but Kenpachi fought for pleasure, he sought the battles, sought the madness. Maybe he had found it. Or perhaps the weight had crushed even a strong man as him. What hope was there for anyone else then?

            “Who?” Kyoraku had to be certain so he asked, casting his assumptions aside.

            “ **She.** ” He stressed. “Retsu. Unohana. Yachiru. Kenpachi.” He continued as if her names were a waterfall he could not stop, the expression on his face unreadable. The commander kept his composure as he straightened up in his chair. He had to ask some questions to be certain if he gained a friend back or lost another captain. He had to tread lightly.

            “May I ask where she is? Does anyone else know of this? How is she?”

            “She’s at my house with Yumichika and Ikkaku. Only they know and I. Her body is unharmed except for—” he took a deep breath that sounded shaky to the commander and swallowed his words. It was unusual, almost impossible and made Kyoraku seriously worried. Ikkaku and Yumichika would not play along to a madman’s visions, even if that man was their captain. Furthermore, those scratches on his face. It had to be true.

            “She isn’t herself.” Kenpachi continued. “There ain’t a drop of reiatsu in her. She doesn’t speak and she doesn’t remember anything or anyone. I doubt she even understands me.”

            “Since when is she there?” Kyoraku asked.

            “Three days or four.” The commander’s jaw tightened. Kenpachi could have come earlier. He should have. If this was indeed true, it was unheard of. He himself has read the report of her death, the only one written in Zaraki’s unstable writing. The wounds he had described were incompatible with life. He had to see her as soon as possible, right away, and prepare an emergency captain meeting. Not to mention the other stirrings this would cause.

            “Well, Captain Zaraki, thank you for telling me although later than I’d have liked,” Kyoraku announced as he stood up. “Your words are certainly unexpected and demand urgent action. Return to your house and remain there until I send word for you. I can promise you it won’t be long. Expect a visit from the medics as soon as possible. Now, I’m afraid I have to deal with that matter and leave you.”

            The commander’s mind was racing as he exited his office. He had to inform Central 46, he had to visit Kenpachi’s house and he had to call a captain meeting. He hoped, he prayed all of this was true; that however changed and unwell Retsu was **alive**.

            The woman, his lieutenant and 3rd seat were awkwardly sitting in the living room, Retsu a little further away from the two men, glaring at them suspiciously like an untrusting child. Kenpachi would like to think he saw her face brighten up a little when she saw him, the tension leaving her body.

            “How did it go, Captain?” asked Ikkaku as he stood up.

            “It’s done.” He walked closer to her. “Had she spoken?”

            Yumichika shook his head. It was expected. Kenpachi motioned to Ikkaku to move further away and pulled out a pair of white tabi socks he had bought on the way to the Gotei 13’s barracks. He sat down with his legs crossed and tapped her calf, tugging on her ankles so Retsu would catch his drift. She moved her legs from beneath her and stretched them forth. He caught her bare feet in his hands to warm them up before putting on the socks. By the feeling of it, he had guessed her size correctly – only slightly larger than his hand but narrower. The captain fastened the ties snugly and wrapped the ends of the yukata but chose to keep her feet in his lap instead of to let her go.

            There was no knock on the door before a tall monochrome figure entered with a hand on the hilt of her zanpakuto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan is to update every 5-7 days, eve though most of the fic is written and it passed 50k words. Some chapters need strong editing and I'm having exams the next couple of weeks (and I study law on top of it) so, yeah... Again, comment if you liked or didn't like it and tell me if Kenpachi is too OOC (cause I'm so scared of mauling his character, I remember joking around I've made him into some version of Heatcliff). And also tell me if the POV change (we have a little bit of Ikkaku and Kyouraku here) clicks with you or I have to separate it in some way. VALIDATE ME!


	3. Death Cannot Change Her Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews and keep 'em coming! Unfortunately, there might be a delay in updates two chapters from now, because I need to write a new chapter to tie some things together (or else that smut will hit you out of nowhere and I'll have to pay you damage costs).  
> This chapter is very, very stormy (so much it's kinda cringey to me), so strap yourself to your bunks and hope you'll survive the tempest! FULL AHEAD! (I have to stop being cringey and go call my crush + maybe study for my forensics exam)

            Captain Kotetsu Isane was staring at the large man sitting across the room, a pair of feet clad in white tabi in his hands. He abruptly stood up and went forward. His subordinates were fast to scatter to their feet, their swords clicking as they loosened them in their sheaths. Kenpachi knew what she was here for and knew he had no right to stop her but he gave her a homicidal smile and reached for Nozarashi.

            Isane’s focus quickly changed to the longhaired woman whose feet he had been holding. She almost did not notice her presence in the room, so untraceable was her reiatsu if she had any. Her hand let go of the hilt of her sword and she bypassed the captain and his subordinates with shunpo to kneel by Retsu’s side. The silver haired woman carefully reached out to her face, watching with concern her puzzled expression. She was not scared but her large eyes shone glassy and somewhat distant.

            “Captain…” Isane said, unable to remember that now she was the captain of the fourth division, and swept back a stray tar-black lock of hair behind her ear. She had never seen her with her hair down and she knew no one else had except the eldest captains. And _him_. This was no time to fight him; she would surely lose.

            Instead, she focused on the reason she came here in the first place – the woman sitting in front of her. She showed no sign of understanding her surroundings, no more than a wild animal. She reacted to voices and seemed to sense people’s demeanour and intentions towards her but nothing more. Retsu gave her a small smile and Isane wanted to embrace her tightly. When she lost her, she lost much more than her captain – she lost her mentor, her most precious friend, the one person she was looking up to. A strong woman, strong in every sense of the word – strong enough to carry the burden of her past and her present, to be always thoughtful of her duties and to die by the hands of _that man_ , all of this while keeping her calm face.

            Duty came first. There was a very harsh bruise on the raven-haired woman’s wrist. She gave her it a gentle twist to check if it was sprained or haemorrhaging. There was no swelling; it was healing well but she did not fail to notice the pattern of the bruising – four distinct lines left by harsh fingers. The sleeve of the moss green yukata had fallen down to her elbow and she could see fainter bruises on her forearm. Sickening thoughts ran through her head. She would know more after the general exam.

            Isane had read the report of her death, written in that man’s ugly childish handwriting, even though the document was confidential. She knew where to look next. As she gently gripped the collar of her yukata and tugged it slightly open, she revealed a ghastly scar. Two suppressed gasps echoed in the room. Isane knew all eyes were on her but she continued examining the tissue – the flesh was gnarly and twisted, way too much so to be the result of just one wound. It stood a little lower than the level of the skin around it – the layered scar tissue had eaten away her flesh. It was not a pretty sight but it posed no threat to her health. Retsu did not need urgent medical attention – the wounds on her body had healed; those on her mind were untreatable. Isane could only hope that with time her friend would slowly return to her previous self. Yes, with time and away from _that man_.

            Her lack of reiatsu was another problem. The captain of Squad 4 needed to examine her further to pinpoint the reason for it, but she guessed it had to do something with the fatal wound she had received. Incompatible with life. A final act of healing, definitely instinctive and involuntary, her body’s final cry, could be the only reason she was alive. If this was the case, it would be indeed successful, were it not for the fact that Unohana went not to fight that man, she went to die.

            Her captain had often scolded her that she was quick to anger but Isane’s emotions took over her as she closed her yukata that bore _his_ scent as she was wearing _his_ clothes and was in _his_ house. The thought of what he could have done to her made her sick. He had gone as far as murdering her; now she expected everything from _that man_.

            Isane thought she did not hate him. She was always civil with him on the instances on which she met him since the war’s end. After all, she knew little of matters between warriors.

            _Forgive him._

It was Unohana’s dying wish, written in that last letter.

            _Do not hate him and do not tell him. He must not know._

            So she had remained silent after he had told her he had killed her captain, allowing herself to wallow in that grief. But now, now Unohana was alive and the hatred simmering beneath her sorrow threatened to erupt. He had claimed to have hated her and he had killed her; he had kept her hidden from everyone and left his marks upon her. Isane swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.   

            “Can we speak alone somewhere? I have some things to discuss with you.” Said Captain Kotetsu as she stood up, tempted to make some remarks and accusations and damage his reputation in front of his subordinates but decided against it for the sake of Unohana’s ease. Kenpachi bit his tongue to keep silent and went to the next room with the tall woman following behind him. As soon as she closed the door, she spoke.

            “First, although it was your obligation, I have to thank you for informing the Commander about this. I want to assure you that Captain Unohana is generally well and successfully recovering from the physical damage inflicted upon her. By you.” She gulped at the pronoun and cursed her nerves. To her discouragement, Kenpachi’s face read more concern and sadness than rage. Isane continued.

            “Because of this, I’m certain you know very well that you cannot take care of her. I’m taking her away with me. For the sake of her recovery I suggest you sever all ties with her.”

            Kenpachi knew that was about to come and he could swear he knew letting her go was inevitable but he could not fight the urge to oppose that woman. Isane had the nerve to speak to him with that tone while she knew nothing of them! No one knew anything about them! Sever all ties? Scars and blood, spilled blood tied them together! Were so many decades not enough? For a moment the thought of leaving her seemed so wrong – this was his fault, he was the one who killed her and although this made him unworthy to want anything from her or even stay by her side, he ardently, genuinely wanted to help. He wanted to watch her slowly regain her previous self, even if it would mean she would hate him again. Then he would gladly let her go, only then and not now.

            “I can’t.”

            At this simple answer the captain of the medical squad exploded.

            “She is not yours to play husband and wife with! I saw the bruising on her wrist and up her arm. Tell me you have not done this to her! Look at the claw marks upon your face and tell me you have not touched her in that manner! Tell me so or I will kill you!” She had sworn she would not shout at him but he unnerved her so while she felt so fragile and her heart was breaking. “Why are you so determined to hurt her? You murdered her! I read the report you wrote on her death even though I wasn’t allowed to. I broke the rules to find out how you could possibly win over her. You did not! You called it losing consciousness – it was life you lost. You died a thousand times but she brought you back to life a thousand times and one! Captain Unohana died for you!” Isane bit her tongue. She had said too much and those things were not hers to say. _He must not know_.

            Her words were ringing in Kenpachi’s ears, echoing in his brain, every single one dripping with malice. _She died for you_. Died, died, **_died_**. It was a fight he never had a chance to lose; a game he never had the chance to win. It all made sense now – the blackouts, the feeling of being fucking **reborn** , the change in her expression as the fight reached its climax, the bloodlust being replaced by calmness, melancholy even. Kenpachi had thought that this was the realization of defeat written on her features; the realization of being weaker. She was not. He had cried when he thought he was going to die to her. She had not. It dawned upon the man that he had been the weaker one; that he still was. The memory of her lying motionless in his arms returned. Flowers were blooming on her chest and mouth.

            “Now you understand you have to let me take her. Away from you. It’s nothing short of a miracle that she’s alive. You cannot have that life too.”

            He had to let her go. For once in his life, he had to think of what was best for her. Isane walked back into the other room and gently took Retsu’s hand in hers and led her towards the door. The medics were waiting outside. The fact that Retsu so willingly followed her made him ill and he felt bitter hatred rising in him. Hatred towards her, towards Isane, towards himself. There were no goodbyes, no words, no looks back. It seemed it never crossed her mind to stay. He stood there, as if in a dream, staring at Unohana’s back, at the way his yukata rustled on the hardwood floor as she walked away from him until she turned around, wild-eyed.

            “Kenpachi.”

            His breathing stopped at the sound of her voice but his body moved forward to her, fast, desperate, as if she was a mirage that would disappear in a second. He grazed the fingers of her slightly outstretched hand, one last touch before they lead her away for eternity. If the male did not know better, he would dare say that she looked sad. Her black hair swayed from the motion as she let go of Isane’s hand.

            “No.” Retsu muttered hoarsely as if there was congealed blood in her throat.

            Holding each other just by the tips of their fingers, Retsu came crashing into his chest, embracing him tightly. Kenpachi’s arms encircled her small shoulders and he gave in to the warm feeling that spread through him. He looked down at her head, her face buried in his chest, before looking to the woman at the door.

            Isane had a desolate expression on her face, full of uncertainty as she stood there as if bound by kido. Retsu’s grip on his clothes loosened and he fell to his knees to look up at her face. Her eyes were open wide, as if in shock, struggling to remember something she once knew. The man held her warm hands and gazed at her with hope.

            “Do you remember me,” he asked much more feverishly than anyone in the room had ever heard him be. Retsu was simply staring at him with a trembling chin, as if he had commanded her to tell him a secret she never knew.

            “No.” Came the short answer.

            “Do you remember anything?”

            “No.” The hoarseness in her voice was slowly fading.

            “Is this the only word you remember?”

            “No.” He let a quiet laugh escape his lips and she smiled weakly in return. The man was delirious to the faces of the people in the room. Ikkaku and Yumichika had not heard him laugh since Yachiru had disappeared.

            Isane was truly, utterly perplexed. The sound of Unohana’s voice was like pulled out from a distant dream. She never had the chance to say goodbye. Retsu’s reaction brought her back to reality, slipping away from her hold and into Kenpachi’s arms. He was the one who triggered her speech; an emotional event related to him to be precise. This was a blade with no hilt – there was no way to grasp it without cutting yourself. Unohana was clearly still unstable; this was just the beginning of the process. She could get better or worse, depending on the things that surface in her memory. That man could be both helpful and toxic to the process. No, he would be definitely toxic in the end – he had killed her! However, now the captain of the healing squad knew that she could not lead her away against her will.

            She wanted to get closer to the raven-haired woman, to make certain she really is coming back, although slowly, to look into her eyes and search for any signs that she perhaps remembers her lieutenant. But she could not. The intimacy with which they held each other was enormous.

            A light touch upon her shoulder made her look away from them.

            “Leave this to me, Isane.” General Kyoraku reassured her, moving next to her.

            “She—”

            “I saw everything. Is she generally well like Zaraki said?” Asked the commander without tearing his eyes from the scene in front of him. The woman nodded.

            “It seems so but the general exam—”

            “It can be done here, right? Tomorrow perhaps?” Shunsui gave her shoulder a tap and moved a step forward.

            The commander had witnessed how Retsu crashed into Zaraki’s chest as the current captain of Squad 4 watched shocked and helpless. Indeed, it was an odd sight. Odder still, the large man had knelt down in front of her who looked so small in his oversized robes. He knew that Retsu and Kenpachi had met long before he became the captain of the Eleventh division. Hell, even the name of his adoptive daughter was proof for that. Yet, he never dared to ask her. Retsu never talked about her past. Still, Kyoraku could not help but smile – it was her, truly, it was her and she was alive. And even Death could not touch her beauty.

            “Captain Zaraki?” Kenpachi stood up but did not let go of her hand. Retsu turned around slowly, her back pressed to the safety of his chest, to look at the man who was talking. Indeed, she was still the most beautiful woman in the Soul Society.

            “She can stay here. I’ll arrange medical care to be here every day, from dawn until dusk. Captain Kotetsu is going to visit often to supervise her care, as well as I, although my visits will be mostly as a friend. Now, about you – I will need a detailed report on how you found her. I want everything written down. There would be no urgent captain meeting as Central 46 cannot come to a consensus if she concerns or not the Soul Society in her current state, but expect her to be one of the topics of the next gathering.”

            Kenpachi simply grunted in response. The commander got closer to the pair and outstretched his hand to Retsu. She reluctantly did the same and he took it, kissing it politely.

            “I must leave you to rest now, senpai. Goodbye.” Kyoraku said with his usual smile but the black-haired woman only looked up to Kenpachi. Isane was ready to leave too. She gave orders to the medics and appointed the ones that would stay in Zaraki’s house for the day. Given her sudden and unexpected return of her speech, it seemed dangerous to probe around her mind with questions. She had to wait a day or two; she had to leave her with him. One last glance before she left: their hands were still clasped together and while Kenpachi was watching their departure, Retsu was looking at him, her other hand holding the fabric of his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we never got to see what was written in that goddamn letter/note (a sentence would be nice, Kubo), have my version:
> 
> Isane,   
>  You are a skilful medic and a kind person. I could not have wanted a better pupil. I place all my hopes for the Fourth in you. The only advice I have for you is to believe in yourself as I believe in you.  
>  Certainly, you have picked up my tone for this letter. By the time you find this letter I will be gone. If everything goes as it must, I will not come back. There is no other way. It has to be me.   
>  Before you jump up and run to Kyouraku to stop me, know that he approved this. The central did too. Furthermore, even if they had not approved my actions, they could not have stopped me.   
>  There are many things you don't know about me. I have not always been who I am now but I have not really changed either. I'm a murderess. I have killed for pleasure, awaiting to meet my true match. I never did. I met someone much stronger. Now I am to die from his hand, just as I must have done hundreds of years ago.   
>  It strikes me that I think of my death with no sadness or fear. I have made peace with it. Death has been my companion all my life. Kenpachi must be free of me. I have only one thing to ask of you and I know you have the strenght it takes to do it. Forgive him. Do not hate him and do not tell him. He must not know of my sacrifice. He must not know. 
> 
> Unohana Retsu


	4. Death Cannot Change Her Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my personal hell... It took so long (like at least 2 months) because it's pretty actionless and after the drama we had last week, it's pretty boring. We're going to explore some past relationships in this and establish new ones, so enjoy!

Isane returned the next day for the general exam, surprised to see that Retsu looked more like her usual self. She was still reluctant to speak but she understood everything and even seemed to be aware of her state.

            The recovery struck her as almost miraculous. Certainly, some things like character and temper were harder to lose and easier to recover; whatever social contact was provided by Kenpachi was also helping but it was still too fast. Isane feared that it may have repercussions.

            The silver-haired woman greeted her and made her acquaintance before following her to what Zaraki referred as her room. Although she could not bring herself to trust him, his behaviour struck her as unusual. In truth, Isane had hardly ever spoken to him, but so had most of the other captains and lieutenants. He had made some close friends since Aizen’s betrayal but still remained distanced. Almost everything she knew about him came from the shinigamis’ opinion on him as well as her observations – bloodthirsty almost to the point of insanity, mannerless, merciless, quick to anger and strong, inhumanly strong. He never listened to reason, he hardly cared for rules; he never tried to untie a knot when he could slash it in two with his sword.

            “How is your wrist?” Isane enquired after the purple patch on her arm, which was turning to teal around the edges.

            “Not as bad as it looks like albeit it still pains me.” The black-haired woman replied, subtly tugging on her sleeve so the bruise would be covered.

            “Try to move it less.” Isane nibbled on the dry skin on her bottom lip before speaking. She had to ask. “By the way, how is captain Zaraki treating you? Does he make you do anything?”

            “No. Quite contrary, I’m feeling like a freeloader. He is caring and I dare say kinder than one would expect from a man like him.” Retsu explained. “But…”

            “But?”

            “He…. No, nothing.”

            Of course she wouldn’t share everything with Isane but the latter still felt a sting. She was still no one to her. Merely a doctor.

            “May I ask you a question, captain Kotetsu?” Unohana took her out of her thoughts.

            “Of course.”

            “What exactly am I to Kenpachi? We don’t seem to be related,” Retsu touched her ring finger, “nor connected by any other familial bond. We must be important to each other if he’s the only one whose name I remember and if he’s so concerned about me, mustn’t we?”

            The taller woman did not know what to say. Zaraki was important to her, that much was certain, she had stated it in her letter and it was evident by her actions, but she doubted whether she was important to him. One did not kill those important to them. And yet Retsu described him as caring…

            “I don’t think anyone but him can answer this. If you’re having doubts about staying here, I can arrange you to move out to the barracks of our division. We will always have a room to spare for you.”

            All the barracks were built in the same way but Unohana had made quite a lot of changes from the usual purpose of the premises. She had always said that the fourth division is like no other so it made sense for things to be different. She had moved the captain’s quarters to the first floor, in two small rooms facing the yard, and the yard itself, which the other squads used for combat training, had been transformed into a magnificent garden full of various herbs and the captain’s favourite roses. It was an unusual place for the chambers of the captain since in every other of the barracks, they were spacious apartments situated on the topmost floor of the main building and now they were left for storage rooms and drying herbs. Isane vividly remembered how she and captain Ukitake met commander Kyouraku in the barracks, a black eye steadily forming on his face after accidentally wandering into captain Unohana’s bedroom.

            It would never be the way it was back then, would it?

            “I’m comfortable enough here but thank you for your offer. I’ll speak with Kenpachi.” The current captain knew it would be better if she stayed here, where it was calm and quiet, with the only person who was more than a complete stranger to her, but it did nothing to make her feel less uneasy. _Can I really trust him?_ The silver-haired woman could not forget even for an hour the silence he had answered her with when she had asked him if he had touched Unohana.

            Isane sat down on a pillow.

            “You know that I am here today to perform a full general examination. It will include a psychological status.” The medic opened a questionnaire. “I have to ask you some standardized questions about your memory loss.” she started. Retsu was sitting on her futon, her hands laid in her lap in a calm manner. “What is your name?”

            “Unohana Retsu.” She answered firmly. When it came to names this was all she remembered – her own name and the name of Kenpachi. Isane was ashamed to feel a pang of pain. The dark-haired woman did not remember her. In the end, it all came down to her and Kenpachi. No one except them knew what exactly lied between them. Now she knew that Kyoraku was aware of some things and Isane herself had always suspected others – the haunted look on Unohana’s face when one of her subordinates reported that Captain Zaraki had been admitted, gravely wounded, and the fast steps she made, barely restraining herself from running to his room.

            She always ordered that she would be the one to tend to him. The silver-haired woman attributed it to her desire to provide the best care for the captains but Retsu never allowed anyone to disturb her while she was healing Kenpachi. She refused any offered help to the point Isane had once found her passed out from exhaustion. She had collapsed by his bed, pallid and covered in his blood but all his wounds were tended to and dressed. He himself was submerged in a deep and untroubled sleep, his hand had fallen over the edge of the bed, their fingers lightly touching. Now she realized it had always been like that – Unohana was willing to die so he could live.

            The captain of the fourth division shifted on her pillow at the uneasy memory and asked the next question. “Do you have any pseudonyms?”

            Unohana considered Re-chan a nickname rather than a pseudonym so she answered negatively. She was feeling somehow disoriented still, her mind in unorganised shambles.

            “What is your age?”

            “361 years.”

            “When do your recent memories start? What is the first thing you remember?”

            “I remember the creaking of the door to the room where I sleep in waking me up. Kenpachi coming to my side. His steps were heavy as if he was barely keeping balance. He looked quite distraught, his eyes bloodshot and glazed over. I think he was in pain.” She spoke softly but clearly, immersed deep in thought, her eyes not focused on something in particular. “He knelt next to the bedding and took the covers from beneath my arm to tuck me in. He was definitely in pain. I remember wanting to help him but I didn’t know how, everything was so strange and unfamiliar and I was finally coming to my senses. When he embraced me I stiffened, then went limp, unsure how to respond. I couldn’t speak or it seems to me I could not remember I could speak. But he did.”

            Retsu’s answer did little to put her worries to rest. At least she has been this aware for longer than a day.

            “Didn’t that make you uncomfortable,” the tall woman spoke before she could think.

            “Perhaps it should’ve, but no. In fact quite the contrary.”

            “And before that memory?”

            “I hazily remember Kenpachi wrapping me with a sheet, rubbing my skin with it as he was drying it.” Isane wondered how she could say it so calmly, as if it was the most usual thing. She knew the captain of the 11th squad used to be a caring father to Yachiru. Her disappearance seemed to have a deep impact on him. Now he was often solemn and silent, his harsh remarks and loud protests much more rare. Yet Unohana was not Yachiru; she was a woman. A woman he had killed.

            “Besides that, nothing, I’m afraid. Even Kenpachi, his name is all I remember and that strange feeling that he is close to me. There are some other things but they are obscure and distant like someone’s voice or a certain familiar smell but it’s so, so—”

            “Don’t pressure yourself. There’s no need for it. It’s best if it all comes naturally and it will eventually,” Isane said reassuringly. “Let’s go back to that morning your memories start. Ever since that moment how much do you remember?”

            “I think everything.”

            “You think?” Isane wished it really wasn’t everything. It was abnormal for one’s memory to go back to proper function that fast.

            “I remember everything. There isn’t much really. We were here all the time, doing nothing. Kenpachi busied himself with some housework but I think he was afraid to leave me out of sight.”  Isane just nodded and wrote down her response. This was all too good to be true. _She shouldn’t be that aware of everything, she shouldn’t be analysing her surroundings that deeply._ The captain closed the file, somewhat disturbed. Standing up, she moved closer to the other woman.

            “I need you to relax.” Isane gently cupped Retsu’s face and pressed some points on the nape of her neck while slightly moving her head. Next, she flashed a light to her eyes, checking the reactions of her pupils.

            “Have you felt dizzy? Any headaches? Nausea?” she inquired.

            “No, nothing.” Everything was normal. The cause of her amnesia was surely psychological trauma. The medic turned to her bag and opened it.

            “Roll up your sleeve. I need to draw some blood for testing.” Isane said as she was bringing out a needle and several glass containers from her medical bag. “And I’ll need a urine sample but after we’re finished with the physical exam.” She handed Retsu a small jar and watched her place it next to the futon before taking her arm and tying her biceps with a leather band.

            “Clench and unclench your hand, please.” The captain smeared alcohol on the inner side of her elbow and pressed the needle into the bulging vein. It punctured the skin and the blood flowed into the test-glass but the black-haired woman did not flinch nor express any other sign of discomfort. Isane expected, feared that she might find her different, frail, changed by the loss of her memories, by Kenpachi, by Death.

            “Can you, please, undress, I need to examine your body.” Retsu complied and folded her kimono, placing it next to the futon. The cold air made the hairs on her arms stand up. Isane searched for bruising or wounds but her skin was impeccable save for the scars on her chest and back and the bruise on her wrist. The light bruises she saw the other day had faded away to almost unnoticeable yellow.

            “I must ask you, do you feel any pain or physical discomfort in general?”

            “No, nothing,” Retsu answered negatively once more.

            “Good.” The silver-haired woman brought out a stethoscope and after warming the end with her palm, put it on Retsu’s chest. “Breathe in deeply and then breathe out.” Isane listened carefully to her lungs but heard nothing out of ordinary.

            “Please, lie down.” The black-haired woman lied on the futon and the medic started palpating her abdomen, checking her internal organs for any kind of damage.

            “Tell me if it hurts.” Her hands moved skilfully over her skin, slightly digging in to make out the shape of every organ. Retsu seemed fine for she did not make a sound. She was as healthy as one could be.

            “We are almost finished. Only the gynaecological examination is left.”

            Retsu nodded in agreement.

            “This can be a little uncomfortable.” The black-haired woman held her breath for a moment longer at the intrusion but relaxed soon after. Isane did not take long – there were no lacerations or bleeding; no abrasions on the posterior. He had not touched her after all. Then why didn’t he say it. Deep inside her she knew he would not do this – if she thought the opposite, she would not let her stay with him no matter the cost. Isane handed her the kimono and began packing her instruments.

            “You are in perfect physical health.”

            “But my mind…”

            “Is slowly healing. Don’t stress yourself with remembering. In fact, I advise strongly against it. Try to think less. Try to live.” Isane reached in the sleeve of her shihakusho and pulled out a small round box.

            “Take this. It’s an ointment for the scars. The one on your back could fade away but the one your chest will not. Still it will help to strengthen the skin.”

            Retsu took the box and thanked her to which the medic smiled. With or without memory, this was still the woman she looked up to. It was her essence – being strong, gentle, nurturing despite the darkness dwelling in her. Even Death could not change her.

            “Captain Kotetsu?” The silver-haired woman shivered at those words. It was so wrong to be referred to like that by no other but her, when she herself still found it impossible to call her anything other but ‘captain’.

            “Yes?”

            “About my powers… Is there a chance they’d come back?” Oh. Of course, she would remember them. Most certainly, she felt their lack, the emptiness they had left. She had a right to know.

            “Reiatsu works in strange ways. We can never know for certain but it’s highly improbable. I’m sorry.” Isane hated to be the one saying this to her. She had been one of the most powerful Shinigami. To see her like this was disheartening at least.

            “I understand.” The captain’s heart broke to those words. Retsu was just as calm and composed as she knew her to be. No death, no claim to be a murderess changed her. It was easy to forget it all when they were together like this – alone, talking. She looked just the same, her voice was just the same, her expressions, her words, the way she held herself with poise. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Maybe they could easily fall back into their friendship.

            “Don’t hesitate to approach me if you need to talk to someone, to another woman.” Again, Isane regretted how pleading she sounded. The raven-haired woman would scold her if she were to remember her.

            “Thank you, Captain Kotetsu.” Retsu replied as Isane stood up, ready to take her leave. “You don’t really trust Kenpachi, do you?”

            “I don’t.” Isane let out a nervous laughter. “You describe him as kind, caring, but I cannot fathom these words applying to him. But I’ve always trusted your judgement and I do now. Maybe he’s a better man than I think him to be.”

            Maybe he really was. Retsu had dismissed every one of her worries, at least those she could share with her. The silver-haired woman could not tell her that Kenpachi had wounded her fatally and left her to die. But even if she didn’t know everything now, she knew everything back then and chose to die by his hands. She saw something in him she could find in no other.

            Perhaps, Isane was the one that needed to speak to her colleague, to really be certain that Retsu would be safe here. It wouldn’t make it less wrong, it wouldn’t stop the nausea in her stomach every time she saw her captain in her murderer’s clothes but…  

            The black-haired woman smiled politely as she saw Isane to the front door, briefly glancing at Kenpachi who was sitting in the living room, mending a pair of waraji. The medic looked at him and saw his eyes set on Retsu before meeting hers. Her stomach churned at the contact but his brutish features were contorted in a way that read more worry than anything else. The man shuffled in his place seated on the floor and Isane thought for a moment that he was going to stand up and come to their side but he did not.

            Retsu opened the door and the captain of the Fourth squad walked out.

            “I’m going to be visiting quite often. I’ll get back to you tomorrow for the test results. For now, I advise you to rest. Don’t overthink and don’t force yourself to remember your past. The most important thing is to give your mind a chance to heal.”

            The black-haired woman nodded in affirmation.

            “Goodbye.”

            “See you soon, captain Kotetsu!”

            “Please, call me Isane.” She couldn’t bear to hear this formality coming from Retsu’s mouth when she had to painfully restrain herself from calling her captain every time she spoke to her. The woman standing in front of her smiled again, but this smile was warm and sincere, not simply polite and put on by habit.

            “See you soon... Isane!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter ready and then it's my personal hell 2.0 beta a.k.a. the chapter I haven't written but exams got me bad. I didn't do my best on the Forensics one :///////. Wish me luck on Tuesday!


	5. My Hands Are Of Your Colour

            Kyoraku visited her the next week, holding a big parcel in his hands. The captain of the Eleventh division let him in and watched Retsu greet him as he retreated to his spot in the corner of the room.

            “For the most beautiful woman in Soul Society.” Retsu smiled politely as the commander took her hand and kissed it.

            “I don’t think you’ve changed much?” At those words, his womanizing smile disappeared and he gently let her hand fall to her side.

            “Can it be that you have remembered your humble kohai?” She gave a small laugh.

            “I… I still hardly remember anything about you but it seems that your lecherous compliments can’t be forgotten for a long time.”

            “Lecherous? Kyoraku Shunsui? Never. I only speak the truth.” He flashed a now rare smile of true happiness. “I’m glad you’re remembering things but you’re not pushing yourself, right? Isane will kill us all if you do.” The woman just smiled and shook her head. “Now open this.”

            Kyoraku handed her the parcel and watched as she untied the laces and unwrapped its contents. Retsu took out the garment on the top and unfolded it, marvelling at its beauty. It was a white silk furisode, its long sleeves and hem adorned with embroidered crimson spider lilies. Kenpachi, who up to this moment was sitting in the corner of the room, got up with a grunt and left. The commander quickly glanced at his face – his jaw was clenched tighter than usual, his hands coiled into fists and while he tried to remain unfazed, Kyoraku could see little sparks of anger in his eyes. A faint smile appeared on Shunsui’s lips. Was Zaraki jealous? The commander eyes returned to the woman sitting next to him. The smooth fabric she was holding was shiny and expertly woven, the red flowers vivid and true to their real life counterparts but her gaze seemed absent. She quickly returned to her senses and her hands glided over the silk.

            “You should not have.”

            “But I’m glad I did. I’m sorry but your belongings were cleared away to unknown places or destroyed. It was a mayhem and we all thought we had lost you.”

            “But Kenpachi found me, right? I overheard the medics talking about me.” Shunsui knew he had some work to do. The woman before him was not supposed to learn the fact that everyone thought her slain. Isane had warned him that her recovery seemed abnormally fast already. It was the trauma that caused her state; he dared not think what would happen if she comes to know about it so suddenly.

            “Look further, senpai.” He urged her, changing the topic. Retsu put the white furisode away and picked up another. This one was deep red in colour with light grey embroidery of clouds and butterflies. The thread was so fine the images looked as if made of liquid silver. The commander could see that she really liked them. The next thing Retsu took out of the package was a black homongi with hand-painted monochrome chrysanthemums. It was less formal and plainer than the other two but not less beautiful. There were also two nagajuban made from fine muslin, a crimson, black, and white tomoeri and three long silk obi.

            “Why don’t you dress one?” Kyoraku suggested, flashing a smile. “Just to make sure it fits properly.”

            Retsu’s expression betrayed some sort of hesitation and the commander cursed his behaviour. Maybe he shouldn’t just yet treat her like he had before she fought Kenpachi.

            “Perhaps I will.” She took the package and started to leave the room before she turned around and smiled at him. “You’re definitely lecherous.”         

* * *

 

            Kenpachi saw her closing the door to her room, clad in what he guessed was one of the kimonos Kyoraku gave her. He could not fathom what suddenly made his blood seethe a while ago. Kyoraku had never been his enemy; he was even his occasional drinking companion. But then he was one of her closest friends. He had even heard rumours that he had used to be something more than just a friend – a lover.

            Meanwhile Kenpachi had never been her friend. He could not bear to be in the same room as them, listening to their carefree talk, feeling how he was beginning to think with his fists. He had watched her talk to Kyouraku and to Ukitake for a hundred years, her calm voice making the scar on his face throb with pain. Yet when he woke up in the fourth division, his whole body bandaged and aching, feeling her in every pore but she was never there. He could find her scent like a dog would find the scent of game but she was always gone before he awoke. Kenpachi hated her – she had the nerve to tend to him every time and he never saw her alone. It was not cravenness, he was certain; it was coldness.

            Once he had woken up distraught, the feeling of her hands mending the torn flesh pulsing through his body. In a fit of rage, he had hit his injuries with fists, torn away the bandages and opened the wounds with prying fingers. Cold sweat had broken over him as the red liquid seeped from his body. The mad look in his eyes and the blood on his hands had frightened the nurse and she had stormed off to find the only person who could deal with him. He had caught a glimpse of her form and that hateful braid she used to hide behind before he had heard her voice chant a kido, putting him to sleep. Only her scent persisted, even in his sleep – she smelled of crushed dried herbs and freshly cut flowers, clean clothes and blood, so much blood.

            She **reeked** of blood. He would never forget that last fight she gave him, nor her bankai. It was understandable, expected even, to retch from seeing too much blood. A dozen gallons. The sweet metallic smell that you could taste. A massacre amount of blood. But when you saw it flowing from her hand, dripping from her sword like a red curtain, pooling at her feet until it resembled a thick dark sea (people said that blood is thicker than water, and no one except Kenpachi had lived to tell the literal meaning of this saying), a sea that smelled of death instead of salt... Then you felt nothing. Emptiness. So much blood cannot make you even nauseated.

            Blood was the colour of her furisode. Zaraki cared little for beauty, he never sought it and never recognized it, and yet he saw it when she fought him, saw it when he found her in the forest, saw it when he beheld her in his clothes and he saw it now. It was the type of beauty that could kill, which inspired terror and awe. A monstrous beauty that caught you off guard.

            Kenpachi took a heavy step towards her but she did not back away; she never did. He found the desire to pin her against the wall like he had done after his first captain meeting. Nothing had been able to stop him from rushing to her when he had first entered the hall of the First squad and he had looked at her. He had seen the surprise in her eyes and the slightest tremor in her lips before her mask solidified once again. ‘Fight me’, he had shouted at her while Kyoraku and Ukitake held him back but she had not even flinched. Commander Yamamoto’s booming voice had put an end to the calamity that had ensued. Retsu had claimed this was the first time seeing him and that perhaps he was mistaking her for someone else. After the meeting had been over Kenpachi had approached her once more and this time she had been alone. He had pinned her against a wall as she tried to get away but he was physically much stronger, towering over her. Any sane woman would scream or try to run away but she was not afraid of him.

            “Let me go,” she had said with a demanding voice. It was clear that she wanted him to submit to her will not to her kido.

            “It is you,” he had rasped, their faces improperly close. He had found her after so many years. Retsu had remained unfazed, staring up at his face, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes had changed from cold water to hot steel.

            “Child, I will hurt you.” This had been the only thing she had said. A warning, a promise. A proposal he should have accepted.

            “Thank you for the clothes, Kenpachi. And for everything you have been doing for me.” The woman spoke calmly and outstretched her hands, holding his folded yukata and nagajuban. “Perhaps I should have washed them before returning them to you.”

            “It’s fine.” The man took the clothes from her hands and felt their fingers touch. He never knew he was so starved. In the last few days, the captain had distanced himself from her after he saw that she was back. The mere sound of his voice was causing her pain, while he still felt none even now when she was speaking. Quite the opposite – Kenpachi found himself pricking up his ears, engulfing every sound she made and every word she said. Surely, she did not need his useless help. The medics were here to take care of her if the need arises. Yet, he found himself checking up on her to see if Retsu needed something. If she needed him.

            The pair looked at each other for a moment too long.

            “You must excuse me, it’s impolite to leave Shunsui alone for so long.” Her hands left the clothes in his and she went on her way to the living room. The man caught himself looking at her back, her graceful walk, the light sway of her hips and saw her enter the living room. Kyoraku’s joyous laughter and fawning voice. Kenpachi threw the clothes on his futon and walked out of the house, into the yard.

            The commander left some time in the late afternoon. The pair had dinner together before Retsu excused herself to have a bath. Left alone again, Kenpachi’s thoughts returned to this gutting feeling he had got while listening her and Kyouraku talk. It wasn’t the first time he had felt it but now it seemed harder to justify. Before, she never spoke to him. She had always eluded him. Always. Now, he was in the woman’s company every day, almost all the time they were awake. Yet, now it seemed he was the one eluding the other. He spoke only when it was necessary or when she had asked him something. His voice caused her pain after all.

            En route to his room, Kenpachi all but barged into her room out of habit; he used to check upon Yachiru before bed and he never knocked when she used to occupy the room. Retsu was sitting on her futon, ready for bed. She was clad only in her white nagajuban, which was spread enough to reveal her scar and the top of her breasts. In her hands was a small box of ointment and her fingers were dipped in it, rubbing in circles its surface, melting the hardened by the cold medicine so she could apply it on her scars. The captain could see the surprise in her eyes but his intrusion did not startle her.

            “I… uh… Shit.” He mumbled roughly and started to leave but the woman stopped him.

            “I could use some help.”  Kenpachi reluctantly walked to her and she outstretched her hand that held the box towards him.

            “Can you apply some on the scar on my back? I cannot seem to be able to, at least not properly.” He took hold of the small box and got on his knees behind her. Retsu swept her hair to the side, uncovering the exit wound. His fingers scraped some of the ointment and he let it melt before he rubbed it into the marred flesh. He had never forgotten that he did it; he did not try to justify any of the things he had done. Yet it almost made him ill, to touch the evidence for his actions. To feel the twists and knots in her skin. Scars left by something monstrous.

            “This ointment smells so familiar. Like a memory from a long-lost dream.” Her words drew Kenpachi out of his thoughts. Retsu closed the small box, put it away and turned her head to the side to look upon his face. Their closeness became too much for the captain and he stilled. After murmuring a sincere ‘thank you’, the woman pulled up her nagajuban and lied down, covering herself with the blanket. Out of habit, the captain started tucking her in.

            “Kenpachi…” she began and he stopped, mortified of what he had done, to look at her. Retsu seemed quite nervous.

            “Are you aware of my past?” He gave her a questioning look. He had watched her for the last hundred years yet he knew nothing about her. Hidden behind her mask, she never spoke to him; she had hardly ever looked at him and when she had, he had felt infuriated and chilled to the bones; so cold and unfeeling were her eyes, like frozen lakes in winter. And before he became a captain – nothing except their brief encounter, the very same that had filled him with such vigour. Her hands were moving under the covers as if she was trying to show them to him or to hide them from everyone. She suddenly calmed down.

            “The people I’ve murdered.” The words just slipped from her mouth. “I remember them, so many corpses that I can’t count them. And I remember liking it, kindling a flame in me that hardly anything else could. Should I like things that make one monstrous?” Retsu abruptly stopped, trying to read the captain’s face. “I’ll understand you if you want me to leave.”

            Kenpachi was staring at her. How long since she had remembered this? Retsu did not sound afraid, nor regretful. His hands were on either side of her shoulders, still clutching the covers, and his face was right above hers, half a meter away. Her eyes were open wide, burning with the need to know his thoughts. He wondered if her lips would taste like blood.

            “I’m the same.” The captain let go of the covers and extinguished the kerosene lamp nearby, then got up and walked to the door.

            “Good night, Kenpachi.” He looked back at her as he stood in the doorframe but his shadow fell long and dark over her face.

            “Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT A DRILL! THE NEXT CHAPTER IS NOT WRITTEN YET!  
> My last exam is on Tuesday and I hope I'll get the inspiration to write it the days after the exam(I hope that will happen during a few nice dates with my crush). Comments are highly appreciated uwu (surely they will fuel m inspiration to write the next chapter)


	6. I Am Lost, So I Am Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BACK BACK AGAIN! I'm very sorry for the delay, I'll explain myself in the end notes. Also this chapter is kinda shit but it's 5k and I tortured my soul for it. Un-beta-ed and barely revised as always....
> 
> [a hot mess just like me]

            Days and nights bled into weeks and soon most of April had passed by. The weather, instead of changing for better, became uncertain – days of warm sunshine were followed by howling winds and rain. The cold seeped through every small crack around the door and windows but was yet to conquer the rooms. Still, on some nights Kenpachi would light up the fire in the living room so he and Retsu would not be cold when they go to bed. On the next morning, the sakura flowers would always awake covered in a thin sheet of frost.

            The captain had found himself in a state more odd than the weather. While he barely noticed the medics coming to and leaving his house every day, the woman’s presence was both natural and strangely disturbing to him. Almost wrong. He had never been in her company before and now he could see why the Court of the Clean Souls adored her so. There was something about her, something he could not pinpoint that made one feel at ease.

            This was the oddest of all – while everyone claimed she had not changed at all, Kenpachi could not possibly be the judge of that. As if Retsu was the Moon and he came from another planet. He had only experienced the dark and cold side of her, never the light, never this.

            She was kind, kinder to him than anyone had ever been. Kinder than he had been to her. Kinder than he was now. He had never been her friend and he was not one now. The man knew he was pathetic but he could not behave in any other way. After all that had happened between them, he could not be that false.

            Retsu did not falter. The captain could hear her exit her room in the morning while he was still reluctant to get up but could not go back to sleep. He would swear that today would be just another day filled with stolen stares and clenched teeth. He would not stay in the same room as her for long. He would not ask her anything. He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t show her that he cared. He would not be false and pretend they had been good to each other. The captain had told Isane that he hated her.

            He hated her.

            Kenpachi would soon join her in the kitchen where she would bid him good morning and serve him a cup of warm tea with an even warmer smile on her face. Unlike her, he would always falter. Her voice brought him no pain now but he felt some nonetheless. Retsu was so good to him, her presence more soothing than any kind of medicine he has ever had, her demeanour brighter than the crisp spring sun outside. The man was at odds with himself – he had never imposed control over himself; whatever he wanted, he took.

            Today was no different – he received the cup from Retsu’s hand and had to remind himself that he hated her. He heard the medics knock and enter the living room where they would spend the day barely noticeable almost part of the furnishing. The tea was bitter as always, with a flowery hint that even someone like Kenpachi could notice. Making tea and drinking it was never a priority to him – he would brew some herbs only when Yachiru had been sick and that was rarely. Even sweetened tea was too bitter for her and a man like him could live just fine on water and sake.

            Something was different today but Kenpachi could not quite put his finger on it. The flowery taste in his mouth lingered while the bitterness faded. It always did, that was not it. The weather had remained sunny, as it had been for the last few day, but only relatively warm. Something felt different. The man turned his head to look at Retsu.

            He heard a knock on the door for the second time this morning.

            Kenpachi silently cursed whoever sought him this early in the morning, left his cup on the kitchen table and walked to the front door. It had to be Yumichika, pestering him again with paperwork. At least now that he was on official paid leave, Ikkaku was fully able to sign the monthly reports and manage the division on his own. It had better be something important.

            When he opened the door it he was not greeted by a stack of papers and flamboyant eyelashes but by a bouquet of peonies and lilies so large it almost hid the teenage boy that brought it.

            The bouquet, no, the boy bowed before speaking.

            “Flowers for Unohana-sama,” a still high-pitched voice proclaimed. Kenpachi almost shut the door in his face in his confusion but heard her steps behind him.

            “Oh, I thought it was Yumichika,” she spoke. The man turned around to look at the woman as she walked to him and took the flowers from the boy’s hands.

            “Thank you very much,” she chimed but the captain did not hear her. The warm breeze coming from though the open door picked on the locks of hair that framed her face and played with them. Kenpachi was foolish enough to think he could not be caught off guard. The flowers paled in beauty compared to her. She was so fair, her skin as delicate as their petals, her cheeks a softer pink than the peonies in her arms.

            The desire to touch her came over him so suddenly, as if he was a child eager to touch everything it found beautiful. To feel her under his fingertips however so slightly. However so shortly. A mere brush against her skin that he knew would not be enough. It never was. Every evening the ointment seeped too fast into her skin.

            The captain realised he was not alone and turned to look at the boy that brought the flowers. With the enormous bouquet out of his hands, he looked more like a child. A tall and lean one but a child nonetheless. Someone had made an effort to make his hair look presentable but even this early in the morning it was already messed up. _He can’t be older than I was when I met her_. And he hadn’t been the only one staring at Retsu right now.

            “Oi, kid, shut your mouth, some fly may get in.” The man proceeded to lightly slap the boy on his neck. He jolted upright as if pinched and his cheeks burned red.

            “Kenpachi, don’t scold him,” Retsu said as she reached out to smoothen out his messy hair.

            “Sorry, Captain, ma’am! I better be on my way,” the boy almost shouted, embarrassed by his own behaviour and her touch and all but ran away, earning a surprised face and a small chuckle from Retsu.

            After closing the door, Kenpachi stalked after her, feeling as if he had been defeated in a fight. It was worse, actually. He had never cared about winning or losing – to fight was what he wanted; his loss to Ichigo was sweeter than a hundred victories. He hadn’t fought now. Was there even a fight to win or lose?

            The man watched Retsu unfold the card that had been tucked into the bouquet.

            “Who is it from?” _Fuck, this is none of my business_. The man still wanted to hear the answer.

            “Shunsui and the Gotei. He says he’s going to visit later ‘uninvited but at least announced’,” she responded nonchalantly but happily. Receiving flowers made her happy. Of course it did. She liked flowers, he had always known that. The black-haired woman must have heard him grind his teeth for she turned to look at him wide-eyed.

            “Oh, Kenpachi, I’m sorry, I meant to tell you earlier.”

            Kenpachi wished he had never asked. _She is leaving_. It should not matter; he hated her. He should want her to leave. _The sooner she leaves, the sooner I go back to fighting with the division._ He should have rejoiced when Isane had been about to take her ago a little more than a month ago. A month… How fast it had passed…

            “You’re leaving.” _Me. Again._ The captain almost did not recognize his voice coming out of his mouth. She had left him twice now. This was what defeat sounded like.

            “Today is my birthday,” she spoke at the same time as him, their words overlapping like crossfire.

            Kenpachi almost froze, overwhelmed by surprise, before cursing himself for the hundredth time this morning. He should not have spoken that soon. It would have been better if he had stayed silent.  This was what had been different this morning and it was no more. He watched the smile on Retsu’s face wane and be replaced by hurt.

            “If you want me to leave, I will leave. I told you so weeks ago.”

            This again. Retsu sounded sad but calm and resolute. His words would drive her away if his temper did not. It seemed like she still had her doubts and maybe he had his.  

            “You can stay. If you want to.” The pain in her eyes persisted and Retsu just nodded before turning away from him, changing the subject.

            “Do you have a flower vase in which I could put them?”

            “No.” She was easily the only finery in the house. Kenpachi was looking at her back, her long black hair falling straight down her neck and back like dark waterfall, interrupted only by the curve of her kimono collar. He was glad Retsu never put her hair in that damned braid again but he suspected it might be only because women’s kimonos were high-collared enough to hide her scar. In return the back of the garments stood lower, baring the nape of her neck and upper back just enough so the scar on her back was slightly visible. If she were to wear a shihakusho again, the braid would probably return.

            “A jar will do then,” Retsu said making a step towards the cupboards.

            Once again, the man caught himself staring at her but this instance he did not look away. Instead, he outstretched his arm and caught her by the elbow before she moved out of reach.

            “Oi, Retsu—”

            She stopped in her tracks and turned around to face Kenpachi. His hold on her weakened. He felt a tremor in his chin but spoke firmly.

            “Happy birthday.”

            Retsu smiled so beautifully. She moved the weight of the flowers onto her other elbow and slid her arm through the captain’s loosened hold until their palms touched.

            “Thank you.” The woman held his hand for no more than a couple of seconds but the fight in Kenpachi’s head lasted eons – his first thought was to retract his palm immediately as if burnt. No one had held his hand that gently. Kenpachi rarely sought comfort in touch and rarely found it there. And now her hold felt blistering as if he had put his palm on the iron-cast kettle that was still on the stove.

            His second thought was to ignore this feeling and to clasp their hands tight despite it. To never let go, to dig his fingers into her flesh again, so unlike this tender hold she had on him. Death brought her back, Kenpachi thought. _No grave can hold her away from me_. Whatever happened, no matter how hard she tried to run away from him, he always found her. But now, Retsu wasn’t running. Instead, she was holding him firmer than he did her and if her touch burned, he did not mind turning to ashes.

            Retsu pulled her hand away and turned around again, resuming her search for a vessel to put the bouquet in. She settled for a tall rounded jar with a small throat and arranged the flowers. Kenpachi took his lukewarm cup of tea from the table as he watched the skilfulness inherent only to an ikebana master with which she moved the flowers so they faced a certain way.

            The captain smiled involuntarily. It was her birthday. The true day she was born on, unlike his or Yachiru’s. One could know his name only if someone called them by it; one could know their day of birth only if someone celebrated it with them. He had no one tell him any of those things and neither did Yachiru. The pink haired girl had taken as her birthday the day he had found her and he had taken the day he had woken up after his first fight with Retsu. The days before it had merged into a formless eternity; the days after it had separated like stab wounds. The scars on his body multiplied, healed and faded but this _yearning_ he had for her, for another fight with her, only festered.

            _Shit._ Kenpachi had to get her something. It was easy with Yachiru. He knew what she owned, what she could need and what she wanted. Usually the latter was sweets and while he couldn’t not indulge her, he wanted to put a little more effort in it. Money were not a problem, he never really learned to spend them. Whatever he spend was for Yachiru and the household, the rest of his salary usually was left unused. Still, he tried his best not to spoil her. Kenpachi was responsible for her. She was the closest thing to a family he had.

            “I’m going out. Do you need anything,” he asked Retsu as he was tying his .

            “Not really, I don’t plan on celebrating.” The woman came to the door to see him off. “I hope you will be back by the time Shunsui stops by.”

            “Yeah, I will be.” Kenpachi would hate to miss it, especially today. He had found it harder to keep his calm when Kyouraku went into his usual manner of carefree sweet-talking that everyone knew him for.

            With the closing of the front door his brain returned to the thought that infested his mind. A present. Retsu had barely anything to call her own except the bare necessities and still. Kenpachi felt as if he knew nothing about her still. What did she want? What would she like? More than month had passed since he had found her and yet he did not know when her birthday was.

            It had to be something beautiful. She liked beautiful things, that much he knew. But how was he supposed to know what was beautiful to her? The man could hardly tell what he himself found to be beautiful. Retsu. The colour of Yachiru’s hair that made the other children tease her so often while they were travelling. The shine of steel and its sound as it met its equal. He wished he could see with her eyes for a minute to see what she found beautiful.

            Kenpachi was standing in front of his own home, hesitating to enter, clutching a parcel in his hands and a demijohn full of sake dangling from a rope on his wrist. The plain off-white paper box was not particularly festive. He should have had it wrapped prettier, the man thought. It was too late for anything, choosing a present had proved harder than he expected and even now he was not completely certain in his choice.

            He could not be certain if he did not enter and give his present to Retsu, right? Furthermore, it did not make sense for him to be this nervous about this. It had never mattered, it did not matter now and it would never matter. They had never been close and they would never be. One present would change noting.

            The captain entered the house, greeted first by music and then by Retsu. She was sitting on a pillow by the table in the living room, reading a book with gilded edges that Kenpachi did not remember owning. The only books in the house were Yachiru’s colouring books and some old scroll Yamamoto had given him to inspire his interest in kendo but he never got around to look through it.

            On the table, there was a stack of a couple more books, still very loosely bound with a silvery ribbon, a white envelope and the… thing that the music came from. It was not like anything he had seen before – it looked like a record player, something he had seen only in images but never in person, but still not quite. Its base looked more like a box than a platform, the horn was smaller than the one usually pictured and there was no ‘record’. Instead, there was a strange roll, which seemed responsible for the sound.

            Retsu put down her book and stood up.

            “You missed Shunsui and Isane. They left half an hour ago.” He had really taken his time, it seemed. Kenpachi felt a hint of relief that Kyouraku did not visit alone

            “What is this,” he asked, genuinely curious, pointing at the device that played the music.

            “Haven’t you seen one before? It is a phonograph. Shunsui was ecstatic when it first came out but that’s all I could remember. He had to show me how to work with it.” Still it was a lot more than she remembered about him, Kenpachi thought bitterly. “He thought it would be nice to give it to me for a while, to keep me company if the need arises. And Isane brought me some books.”

            _As if I am a bad company, or not enough of a one_. The captain thought it was better to be bitter than nervous. At least it felt familiar.

            “I got you something too.” He handed her the white box and watched for her reaction with more hope than he would like to admit. He wished she would like his present. If she accepted it, it would be the first thing she accepted from him. Maybe she could accept even him, in the end.

            “Thank you, Kenpachi.”

            Retsu untied the plain ribbon and removed the lid, then unfolded the paper. It revealed pale pink silk, the colour of peonies and sky barely after dawn. She looked at him with glimmering eyes before looking back at the fabric. The man reached out to support to box so she could pull the garment out effortlessly.

            The plain fabric unfolded into an elegant dress with an accentuated waist and a full skirt. Kenpachi discarded the box mindlessly, preoccupied with the sparkle in her eyes.

            “I don’t know if it will fit you.”

            Retsu smiled in response.

            “Oh, Kenpachi, it’s exquisite! It’s wonderful but you shouldn’t have went so far! I have nowhere to wear it.”

            „Wear it now.“

            She weighted his words and nodded.

            “I shall.”

            Retsu went to change and the captain thought that in the meantime a cup of sake would only do him good. He went to the kitchen and put the demijohn on the floor. He took out two tokkuri flasks and two _ochoko_ cups out of the cupboard before removing the wax from the demijohn. After filling the _tokkuri_ carefully, he lifted the demijohn to his mouth and drank straight out of it. The liquor pleasantly burned his mouth and throat, sending a stream of fire down to his belly. Yes, this was the good stuff. 

            Kenpachi took the utensils in his hands and made his trip back to the living room. He sat down on the floor, put the flasks and the cups on the table and poured the sake. The cylinder ran out and the phonograph soon stopped spinning. He took a better look at this strange machine and the cylinders that came with it. None of the names were familiar to him – he knew no more than a couple of folk songs.

            The captain downed his cup and put it back on the table forgetting to fill it. Where he came from people had one too many worries to sing. Taken deep in thoughts, he did not hear her returning steps nor the whisper of silk on the floorboards.

            “It fits well. It’s a bit too long but a high heel would fix it.”

            The man scattered to his feet. Retsu was standing in the doorway, one of her hands smoothing over the skirt while the other was clasped over her scar. The light pink silk brought out her dark hair and the redness of her lips. The paleness of her skin… It was the first time he saw her in anything other than a kimono or her shihakusho. The dress left her arms and shoulders bare save for the strap-like sleeves and rested on top of her breasts in the shape of a heart. It fit snugly around her waist but draped over her hips, gradually becoming fuller until it hit the floor, ending with a small train in the back.

            Retsu picked up the fabric from the side and spun around, smiling, before she came closer to the captain but without removing her hand from her scar.

            “Kenpachi?”

            He heard her calling him, he definitely did, but he seemed to have lost the power of speech. _She is the most beautiful woman in the Seireitei_ , he thought but he did not say it aloud. She had always been, but she has always been something he could see and never touch.

            Her hand went to his chin and gently pressed up until he heard his teeth clack.

            “Some fly may get in.” There was a certain tease in her smile that he had never encountered before but one that he liked immediately. Somehow it brought him to ease. There was no reason to be this nervous after all.

            “It has been quite some time since I last wore something like this… And never so revealing on my…,” her hand motioned her chest while still covering her scar.

            “Is it too much?” He liked the way she looked but if she did not it defeated the purpose of his present.

            “No, I’m confident in my body. It’s my scar that is the trouble. I don’t remember many things yet but I know that I do not wear clothes that show it.” Kenpachi could see the hesitation in her eyes. “Perhaps I should…”

            Her free hand reached out to the back of her head and parted her hair in the middle, then brought each of the halves forward. Only then Retsu let go of her scar but only because she needed both her hands in order to braid her hair. The captain watched her make one twist, then another, her motions swift and precise, trained for centuries.

            The woman stopped less than halfway through.

            “It looks stupid, don’t you think so?”

            Kenpachi hated that braid with every fibre of his being but he could not tell her that. Instead, he reached out and slowly started undoing her work.

            “Why do you do it then,” he asked.

            “The scar has to be hidden. It is proof that I am who I try not to be. It is proof for my...” Retsu stopped speaking for moment and a part of the captain wished she would not continue. Did he really had the right to ask her questions that seemed to torture her soul?

            “My heaviest sin.”

            His fingers stopped.

            “Your heaviest sin? The people you’ve killed?” He had done the same he had told her. He was a sinner as much as she was.

            Retsu shook her head.

            “No.” She smiled but her smile was filled with disgust and mockery. “It sounds heartless, doesn’t it? Not the murders, nor the bloodlust in my heart. I do not regret those. It is something else. I do not remember. I just know it.”

            Kenpachi’s hand slid out of her hair, his mind swung back to anger. His scar reminded him only of her but it seems it was not the same for Retsu. She did not remember a single thing about him while he could swear that all he remembered was her.

            “There’s hardly any meaning in hiding it from you.” Retsu spoke again. “You are the first person whose name I remembered. You know of my past. You have seen my scar.”

            Retsu flipped each of the halves of her hair to her back, baring her décolletage. Her fingers briefly brushed against her scar as one would touch a new jewel. For a moment, he wished she would hide it again so he could keep his anger and resentment. The scar stood out against her ivory skin and pale pink dress and while his scar made him look like a demon, hers made her look like a martyr.

            “Do you want a drink,” the captain asked while he was sitting down. He desperately needed to have another cup just to keep the thoughts that plagued him at bay.

            “Yes, I can enjoy a couple of drinks.” Retsu sat down next to him as he reached out to take the flask and refill his cup. “No, Kenpachi, stop.”

            _Oh, shit_. It was frowned upon to pour your own sake when in company but he often ignored this rule. He had always chased away the women in the inns he had stayed in who insisted on pouring his alcohol.

            “Let me.” Retsu took the flask from his hand and tipped it so the clear liquid could flow into the cup he held but he was more interested in her face than her hands. He still could not get used to this feeling of being close to her. Always see but never touch.

            Retsu poured him a cup and they drank. The captain feared that the strong sake would not be to her taste but she quite liked it. The woman winded up the phonograph and let it play one of the cylinders. It turned out she could handle her liquor well and they went past the promised couple of drinks. Kenpachi finally found himself relaxed, even maybe too much so. He knew he was staring too much at her but he could not avert his eyes. Her face and neck were flushed from the alcohol and her eyes seemed dreamier than usual. _Dreamier? Fuck, I am drunk._ He had more liquor than this without getting under the influence of it this much. Kenpachi thought he probably looked like a fool – drunk, mesmerized and the closest to happiness he had been in this past year.

            “Do you want to dance,” the woman asked him as she was removing a cylinder from the phonograph’s axis.

            “I don’t know how to dance.” He had never dance in his life. Dancing required music, a partner and a reason to dance. He rarely had any of these.

            “Do you want to learn?”

            Kenpachi figured he was probably too drunk to walk properly let alone spin in circles with her but, fuck it, he was willing to try and not step on her feet for a couple of minutes. He ungainly stood up and stalked to Retsu, the spinning centre of the world. The realisation that he was drunker than he thought he was came upon him.

            The captain stood in front of her utterly ignorant of what he was supposed to do. She took hold of his left hand and raised it in the air.

            “Take my hand like this.” She then took his right hand and put it on the curve of her back. “Your other hand goes here. There we go,” the woman talked him through their starting position, then looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes seemed glassy and knew that he was not the only one well in his cups.

            In a certain way, this felt right. Their hands clasped, her other hand resting on his shoulder and his on her waist. Kenpachi strengthened his hold and pulled her closer.

            “We need not be this close,” Retsu spoke. “It’s going to be easier if we are a little further apart.”

            “I’m too drunk for easy.” He was too drunk for anything but right now to dance with her was all he wanted. Dance would probably too strong a word, but whatever was coming out of this, he wanted it.

            She laughed at his remark.

            “I’m not sober either. I might step on your toes,” Retsu said while smiling brightly.

            “Pretty sure I won’t feel it. I’m that drunk.” Laughter left Retsu’s lips once again and the man marvelled how the music paled in comparison to it. Her hand stroked his shoulder in an attempt to relieve the tension in his muscles.

            “Don’t be so tense, I’m not running away. Keep your upper body straight and relaxed. Think of this as fighting – in order to move freely and fast you have to be relaxed and use force only when the blades are about to touch.”

            Kenpachi exhaled and made an effort to chase the tension away.

            “Listen to the music and start with your right foot going forward. Now your left foot should follow…” Fuck, this was too hard and he was too drunk to process what she was saying. Forward, follow, gather, back, follow, gather. If he could feel his legs, it would be far easier.

            “Shit.” He was not one to learn styles of dancing or fighting for that matter. Kendo had enough steps and rules for a lifetime. If it did not feel so nice, he would have quit by now and crashed into bed. The man looked down to his feet just to be sure that they followed his orders.

            “Don’t look.” The captain looked up to her mouth as she said this and he thought that looking up to her face was a mistake. Retsu was too lovely. “You’re doing fine. Listen to the music, you’re a little off tempo.”

            Kenpachi heard the music but it seemed as if it was playing from another room. He knew that ‘a little off tempo’ was an understatement. His senses were overwhelmed and for a moment he missed his eyepatch. It would ground him a little more if he saw her with one eye only. She was so beautiful, her cheeks flushed with colour from the alcohol. More beautiful than any man deserved. _I’m wasted_. Kenpachi knew he did not hate her now. He would have never hated her if Retsu had done so little as to give him a chance…

            His hate was rooted in the way she used to treat him. When Kenpachi had stridden in the meeting hall in the barracks of the First squad on the first day of his captaincy, she had been the first thing he had seen. He remembered feeling happy. He had found her behind the whitewashed walls of the Court of the Clean Souls after so many decades of wandering. His feet had a mind of his own for if it depended on him he would have reached Retsu before the arms of Kyouraku and Ukitake had entwined around each one of his shoulders. They were not the thing that restrained him. The glimpse of horror he saw in her eyes stopped him. Was his image that terrifying? It was she who had marked him for life! Then her coldness had turned the remainders of his happiness to ashes. A taste so bitter he had felt his tongue go numb.

            The captain knew he should not look down but he could not turn away. Her scar lurked in the shadow cast by her beautiful face but he saw it still – twisted and discoloured mauled flesh. Tonight was the first time he was seeing it since the day he had found her but he could see it with his eyes closed. Kenpachi forgot to move as his hand left her waist and brushed along her collarbone. He wanted to touch it – out of curiosity, out of bitterness, out of hatred.

            His fingers froze. He could not. Retsu wasn’t stopping him, she didn’t slap his hand this time but he couldn’t. If he had wanted to do it then with no actual thought of her, now… Even if the desire to break her down – so he could get to the Retsu he knew, get to Yachiru, and probably get his revenge in the process – persisted, so did the desire to never part with her. Everything he thought he wanted during all those years, everything he ought to want, he did not.

            “Kenpachi?” Retsu must have seen the conflict in his eyes.

            “Mm?”

            “I need to know, were we…close in any way before all of this happened?”

            “No, we were never.”

            “Then why are you giving me the choice to stay with you?” 

            His hand left her waist and moved up to her face to cup her cheek. Retsu did not lean into his touch but neither moved back. She did not tear her eyes from him, waiting for an answer. Should he tell her his drowned in sake secret or further drown it, bury it forever. Kenpachi’s gaze moved restless across her features. His calloused, scorched by the sun hand couldn’t look more different than her porcelain face. Now or never.

            “Because I want you to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for the delay I seriously thought it would take me no more than 2 weeks... which turned into 3 and a half months... University killed me, my crush broke me (but not my heart... yet), my health is fucked and my muse is nowhere to be seen... It was tough, it really was and this is not my best writing but I want to post this now cause my exam session is H E R E, and if I don't post now I'll post in July... So, next chapter - probably on June 14, maybe earlier if I'm in the mood.


	7. Hunger Is the Purest Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been awful, uni rekt me and my father is back on the verbal abuse among other things... But this does not matter now... As for the chapter - be prepared. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

Kenpachi was lying on his side, watching the faint shadows play on the shoji door as the storm raged outside. The sleep refused to come tonight. He was tired, last night he had not had the chance to get decent sleep because of how drunk he had been. Or at least he wanted it to be because of that. Every time he closed his eyes, the captain could feel her close to him, looking upward to meet his gaze, patiently awaiting his answer.

_Because I want you to stay._

            He had said it.

            In response, Retsu had not spoken. Even though every single one of his words caused her pain, she had remained in his arms, her skin the colour of gold in the light of the kerosene lamps, her eyes brimmed with darkness but still shining. She had not run away. Not this time. This time she had stayed.

            He heard the door to his room open. Kenpachi turned on his back and stared at her standing in the doorframe. What was she doing there? Was she afraid of the thunderstorm? She brought the smell of rain with her. Her face glistened with dampness and her hair seemed touched by the wind. Had she been outside? Kenpachi gave her a questioning look but she simply stared at him in the light cast by a lightning.

            “Is something wrong,” he asked as Retsu was coming to his side and another lightning struck somewhere far away. For a part of a second, he could see clearly the pain written on her face, caused by the sound of his voice. He had to speak less. She bent down before Kenpachi could properly sit up and straddled his midriff, just above his hipbones, her warm full thighs on either side of his waist. The woman proceeded to grab the edges of her nagajuban and pull them apart, baring her breasts and the scar just above them. She let the garment slide off her shoulders completely; she was fully naked under the garment – he could feel her hot, moist core against his skin.

            “The hunger.” She whispered, her voice husky but somewhat hoarse. “Speak to me, Kenpachi. I want to hear your voice.”

            The captain tensed under her and propped himself up on his arms. How could he speak? He knew every word caused her pain. He had spoken enough the day before. Alcohol had loosened his tongue. He had spoken enough even now – enough to cause her pain.

            Retsu reached out for his palm and holding it with her two hands put it on her scar, staring down at him with dark eyes, waiting for something. His rough fingers brushed against the twisted flesh lightly, as if he was trying to touch a lake’s surface without causing ripples; she shuddered beneath his touch, slightly parting her plump lips to let out a shaky breath. He did this to her, not once but twice. He marked her impeccable skin, letting the bloodlust seep out of her body to show the world that there was darkness inside of her.

            The female let go of his hand as he sat up and looked into her eyes. Were her eyes always such a stormy grey? Her darkness was always so different from his. It was warm and alluring, elegant like a rose perfume, but something sanguinary hid in it, primordial, sacred and profane, old as sin itself, that carried the sweet rotting smell of damp earth, of blood, of death. Of timelessness. It crept unnoticeable, like slow poison mixed with honey.

            Kenpachi’s face came closer to her skin and he cautiously kissed the gnarly scar tissue through the gaps between his fingers before removing his hand and kissing it directly. The first time he had marked her for life, and she had done the same to him. Then he had marked her for death. Retsu’s arms encircled his neck and she buried his face in her bosom. His kisses adorned the scar desperately as if he could make it disappear, as if he could make it stop causing her pain. As if his touch could heal for once and not damage.

            His face was buried in her chest, surrounded by her skin and her fragrance. She smelled of the ointment which she used on her scar and which his fingers had absorbed; of the rough lye soap they bathed with; she smelled of blood and musk just like him, as if she was his and he was hers. Yes, he would like to imagine it was like this. Death itself brought her back to him, only to him. His fingers dug into her flesh as his lips moved up to her collarbone and then down again between her full breasts, claiming her with hungry kisses.

            How could he speak? Her heartbeat was driving him mad. Retsu was not an illusion, she was blood and bone and flesh. Bloodlust, no, lust surged through the captain. He figured out it was no different. The trigger she had been tugging at since he met her all those years ago finally snapped. He had never known desire of that kind. Battles was what he lusted after, carnage, violence, blood – his and that of his enemies. Ikkaku’s ramblings about his not so frequent and not so successful encounters with women amused him at best, he himself never having heard the call of his flesh for anything other than fighting. Even when he awoke in the morning, his brain still half-asleep while other parts of his body were already wide-awake, it was nothing more than taking care of a nuisance. A pleasant one, yes, but he sought release, not pleasure. It never consumed him, never even coming close to comparing to the thrill battles gave him.

            How could he stop now when the pleasure was nearing that of a fight? Truly a carnal desire, a euphoric bloodlust. His large hand cupped her ample breast and it fit so perfectly. He kneaded it, feeling her flesh succumb to his fingers, while his lips found the nipple of her other teat and took it in his mouth. Retsu whimpered and rolled her hips against him when he sucked on it. He could feel her warm slickness spreading over the skin of his lower abdomen, lowest, dangerously low. Fire pooled in his loins, throbbing, demanding more, leaving him on the brink of sanity.

            The woman on his lap writhed under his fingers and tongue, twisting like a snake in his arms. He was certain he could go mad. Her left arm had encircled his waist and her hand roamed over his back, gripping the toned muscles in a dazed ecstasy, before she entwined their right hands again and slid them between their bodies, finding her core and barely dipping his fingers inside her. Retsu whimpered and his mind went blank at the hungry look in her eyes, a look he had seen only when he fought her. His fingers slid further inside her and he heard her gasp. The captain had no idea women were so warm and slick and tight. Her hand left him inside her and moved over to his chest, gliding over the toned muscles and scarred skin, her eyes roaming over his torso, her touch like hot wind upon his flesh.

            Kenpachi gathered what he was supposed to do and experimentally moved his calloused fingers inside her. He had seen the scrolls Ikkaku used to carry around decades ago before Yumichika made him sell them so that the increasingly curious Yachiru would not find them. Instead of trying to recall the images, he focused on studying her face. Her cheeks were red, as well as her parted lips and the skin on her chest where his mouth had claimed her; the redness so unlike her pale complexion and her tar-black hair. In his arms, moaning was the most beautiful woman in the Soul Society. The most beautiful monster.

            He could not speak; her face entranced him – the way her brows locked in bliss, her eyes closing shut as moans and sighs escaped her lips. Retsu was so sensitive and vulnerable but he did not want to torture now, he wanted to please. His fingers moved on their own accord, trying to figure out all the sweet spots that would make her body shudder harder.

            Kenpachi returned to kissing her neck and she tilted her head, giving him better access to kiss her harder, more, and he took this chance. His teeth grazed the smooth skin and sank into it, marking her as his own, and she entwined her fingers in his hair. He had to show her what he was – brusque, brutish, bruising. Her sighs and whimpers became every sound in the universe, smothering the thunders and wailing wind. He quickened the pace, the pads of his fingers sliding against her walls while his other hand was leaving harsh bruises on her hips. The male felt her tightening and she let out a wail of pleasure, her back arching as her orgasm took her. Retsu fell limp in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He slipped his fingers out of her but uncertain what to do with his hand he cupped her mound.

            The woman covered the slope of his neck with mindless kisses while she was recovering from the spasms that still passed through her body. The captain found himself closing his eyes and completely submerging in the sensation of her lips. He had never been kissed. Kenpachi expected her to mark him as he had but instead she chose to tame him with tenderness. He felt her hands move from his chest to cupping his jaw and her kisses were now upon his face, over the scar on his left side. Retsu weakly propped herself up and placed her lips at the beginning of the dark line at his temples. She moved down over his forehead and the ridge of his brow, placing a soft kiss on his eyelid and continued down his cheek. When she kissed the part of the scar that went over the corner of his lips, he shattered. He opened his eyes and looked at her and the sight caused something to tug in his chest.

_Love me._

            The way her body reacted to his actions perplexed him – her breathing had become shallow, a thin sheet of sweat had covered her body as if she was feverish until she had suddenly frozen still and let out a wail. He had never heard of anything about this. He would have thought Retsu was to die once more by his hands but instead she had become slicker, softer, **readier** for him to take. Kenpachi knew only one thing – he wanted more of her. He retracted his shaking hand from her mound and brought his fingers to his mouth as she was watching him, relentless hunger still in her eyes. The man hid his nervousness behind a predatorily grin and licked his palm, tasting her essence. He could not quite place her flavour – at first it tasted like nothing, then it was salty, musky, **sweet**.

            Retsu rolled her hips against his clothed erection, entertained by his actions and his head spun at the friction. The captain could feel her through the wet fabric, soft and hot against his stiff member. Her hands roamed over his chest and abdomen mapping the hard muscles, before they reached the triangular part where his torso wedged itself into his narrow hips. She traced the bulging veins with her fingers, brushing past the trail of black coarse hairs and then undid his pants. The male heard her gasp quietly and she briefly looked him in the eyes, surprise written on her face. He felt oddly nervous, almost giddy, both embarrassed and proud of his size. His eager manhood had jutted upwards and Kenpachi thought it looked grotesque and absurd against her white stomach. She did not seem to thinks so; her touch was feathery at first, teasing, until she took a grip of him and he twitched, hard and long, too thick for her small palm.

            His hips jerked up involuntarily, thrusting into her hand. Retsu tightened her hold and gave him a slow skilful stroke. How could she be better at this than he had ever been? Kenpachi saw her lick her lips and fuck, fuck, fuck, he knew he wanted something more than just her palm. Something, anything, no, not anything, he wanted **her**. He wanted **_more_**.

            The captain grunted when her fingers moved up his shaft and her thumb ran over the head of his cock, smearing the pearly-translucent liquid that had been leaking from the tip and staining her hand. Now he was the vulnerable one. His breathing had stilled, as if she had bewitched the air out of his lungs. He felt like he was about to collapse, to drown in pleasure, and at the same time, every muscle in his body was strained to the point of ripping apart. An eternal, blissful hell. Just alike the battles she gave him.

            There was something perverted in the way they fought, something lustful in the desire to make the other bleed, to mark him, to claim him. They blurred the line between fighting like beasts and fighting like gods embodying primal passion and divine blood thirst.

            Retsu gave him a longing look and a devious smile, amused by his confused and tortured expression. This was what he was – excited, aroused to the point of fear, and tormented.

            “How do you want me? Speak to me, Kenpachi.” Her voice was velvety and seductive but her words sounded like a plead.

            He could not speak and he had to stop; he could not use her to satisfy his lust, not even if she enjoyed this, not now when she did not remember what he had done to her. The captain grabbed her hands more roughly than he meant to, causing her grey eyes to widen in bewilderment. He shoved her off him with his other hand and, leaving her to lie on his futon, went to the door. He soon realised he should not have looked back but it was too late. She was sprawled on his bedding, her inner thighs glistening; bare, regretful, vulnerable. Hurt. Kenpachi marched out of the room into the cool night air, devoid of the smell of sex. Isane’s words echoed through his mind. _She is not yours to play husband and wife with._ She is not yours.

            But she was driving him mad. He still saw her fair face when he closed his eyes, a beauty that inspired a cacophony of awe, lust, terror and love. _Love me_. He could still feel her pulse beneath his lips, her breathing against his skin, **_her_** , warm and slick and fucking ready around his fingers. Her kisses burned on his neck and face, melting his flesh.

            Kenpachi knew this erection was not going away on its own. He hid in the bathroom like a shy boy would and with his back against the door let his pants slide down to his thighs. He wrapped his fingers around his hefty shaft and stroked it fast a dozen times before he came with a low growl, his knees buckling from the force of his orgasm as he choked on his breath, swallowing her name.

            The man straightened up and went to wash the seed from his hand. His lower abdomen was still slick with her essence, her taste still on his tongue. Somehow, he felt sick. He liked it. He **_loved_** it. He loved the way she writhed in his arms, the way he gave her pleasure, the way her body went limp after she came. As if she had died for just a heartbeat; a death he could live with. A death he could live for.

            Kenpachi could feel the hunger she was talking about flowing in his bloodstream. The feeling of her warm soft lips against his pulse was now sharp and cruel as a sword biting into his neck, ready to behead him. Isane’s words found their way through his mind again. He hardly knew right from wrong but this could not happen again.

* * *

 

            Retsu was lying on his futon in the indecent pose she landed after he had pushed her away, her limbs sprawled, empty eyes staring at the door. She truly pitied herself. Her temples were pounding, her mind going over what had happened while trying to remember things so long forgotten and unreachable, they seemed to be memories of a past life.

            The scar on her chest hurt every time Kenpachi spoke and he knew, as if she had told him so long ago she could not possibly remember. He knew and spoke only when his heart got hold of his mouth before his head could interfere. The woman did not mind the pain but needed it to stop more for his sake than hers; if it stopped, she would hear more of his voice, unrestrained by his thoughts. It sounded so familiar, as if it was the last thing she had heard in a past lifetime. She felt that Kenpachi was the one who truly understood the endless battle raging inside of her. Yet, she used him to have her way, to satisfy the need screaming deep inside of her. As if she had been starving herself for a hundred years and now she was ready to devour. She was hungry, hungry for his voice, for memory, for blood and for love.

            Retsu pitied herself – greedy and filthy, so filthy that all the water in the world could not wash her clean, she had driven away the one who sheltered her. Nothing could hide her wantonness so she thought it pointless to cover herself or to change her indecent posture. She buried her face in his pillow, her still burning body left for the cold night to embrace, and wondered if this was the first time she had betrayed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, tell me, how are you? (Leave a comment, dammit, the last chapter had zero)


	8. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, guys, I'm continuing to update this fic although I've got 0 (zero) comments on the last two chapters (a.k.a. ever since my comeback). I know I've basically killed my readers with that 3-months long unplanned hiatus but a girl had her struggles. Anyway, enough of my salt, lets see if this shit will resolve....

            The storm had passed but it left the day dreary and as cold as winter. Kenpachi took his spare uniform from his closet, donned it and paid no attention to Hanataro’s greetings. He did not return to his room after he had pushed her off his lap and never looked back. He was terrified of entering that room, of finding her wet and wanton once more because he was certain he would not be able to resist getting what he wanted. The man did not try to get some rest because he was certain she would come and get him in his dreams. Still, lewd thoughts were flooding his mind; he remembered how curious her reactions were and how he hid ashamed and guilty in the bathroom to finish himself off. How she touched him like no one had touched him before; with a gentleness he had never known.

            His palm ran across his neck, as if it could erase the kisses she placed there last night. It was time to check on his division and to give them a good workout. A fight would help him clear his mind of her.

            The captain put on his haori and left the house with a forced decisiveness. Retsu would surely be fine without him. She had survived months in the mountain, alone, bare and shelterless, out of her mind. She would not need him today. But, oh, how she needed him last night. She **wanted** him and him **_alone_**. How sweet was his name on her lips, pronounced in one quiet exhale. _Kenpachi_. How soft she felt underneath his touch, softer than anything he had ever touched. Soft skin, soft breasts, soft were her thighs, wrapped tight around his hips, and soft was what lied between them; soft were her lips that cut like sharpened steel. He had lost himself in softness. Kenpachi clenched his fists. _Ever since I saw her in the forest, I haven’t been myself._ She was alive and yet she haunted him still. A good fight had to help.

            The barracks were as lively as ever. The Shinigami of the Eleventh squad detested weakness so they often engaged in training that bordered on torture. The yard was filled with sparring men, the clang of steel ringing around them. Kenpachi raised his eyebrow ridges and grinned in anticipation, his hand firmly gripping Nozarashi’s hilt. The only thought on his mind was whether he should make them fight him all versus one or if he was in the mood for a duel?

            “Ikkaku!” he shouted, his voice rumbling though the yard.

            “Yes, captain! It has been some time,” the bald man responded right away, albeit being surprised by seeing Kenpachi in the barracks. It had been a month since he had taken his leave and no one expected him to return yet. Not while Captain Unohana was still at his place.

            “Let’s put on a little show for the rookies! Till first blood!” he yelled as he tore a piece of the sleeve of shihakusho to cover his right eye. First blood usually meant until one had a serious wound that would need medical attention and not too often – until one was unable to fight. In one smooth motion, Kenpachi pulled out Nozarashi and flew forward in attack. The lieutenant quickly parried with a grin on his face and counter-attacked. The dark grey steel in their hands seemed to reflect the sullen skies above as the swords danced. Ikkaku was indeed in great shape today or perhaps it was the captain who was out of it. He led an attack that almost knocked Nozarashi out of the captain’s hands and sent him staggering backwards, the makeshift eyepatch falling over both his eyes now. The taller man only laughed and gripped the sword with two hands. He could do it blinded. This was what he was meant for after all; he never felt so alive as when he was fighting.

            Sparks flied around as steel met steel for a millionth time and no one seemed to prevail. They fought for what seemed like minutes but was hours; time did not exist in battles. Kenpachi led most of the attacks but his lieutenant excelled in defence. The fight was getting to them, their breathing now shallower, more rigid. Kenpachi thought it was time to stop playing with his prey and end the fight swiftly.

            Training blindfolded was a novelty for the captain but he had swung his sword in darkness before. What was the time? He could not tell if it was noon or evening. Was the sky as black as his vision? That kid from the fourth division would leave by sunset and she would be alone. Had he left already? What had she done all day? He had left her side just once since he had found her – for no more than an hour but she had been in the company of his most trusted friends. Had she asked for him today? Had she missed him like he missed her? _Fuck._ Kenpachi felt the air right next to him tremble from Ikkaku’s swing. He regretted shoving her away so roughly as if she was an annoying whore. She had sounded so desolate in her plead and she had looked so broken. If only he had spoken. He could have tried to be gentle and to explain what he felt and why he could not continue although he wanted to. _I can’t be gentle; things just break in my hands._ He attacked truculently, blind to the fear in his lieutenant’s eyes. And now, he was about to leave her all alone. Who was going to help her smear that ointment over the scar on her back?

            There was an opening. Ikkaku reached out and swung. He thought he had not reached Kenpachi until moments later, which felt like years, blood gushed out of his chest, soaking the black kosode, making it shinier, blacker. The taller man attacked again, oblivious to the wound he had suffered. The red liquid crept down, staining the white sash of his hakama.

            “Captain!” Yumichika shouted and Kenpachi stopped. A jolt of fear passed through the beautiful man’s body, his neck going stiff and he thought he was about to get attacked. The captain tore away the blindfold. Such madness was present in his eyes. He put his hand over the wound and looked at the blood. The emotions on his face were hard to read – disbelief, anger. Resignation?

            “Good job, Ikkaku.” Kenpachi said before sheathing his sword, walking into the barracks and to his study. It was sometime after noon. He sat down behind his desk, still clutching the wound to reduce the bleeding.

            Yumichika entered the room, looking at him scornfully. He had the most nerve.

            “Captain, has something happened with captain Unohana?” Fuck. Was he so easy to read? “Between you and her, I mean, because if something had happened to her you wouldn’t be here.” Kenpachi stared at his subordinate stubbornly as he slid him a box of the ointment Ikkaku always carried. There was no possibility of telling Yumichika what he had done or how possessed he was by it. His hands coiled into fists.

            “Leave,” he said, his voice hoarse and deadly serious.

            “You’re not yourself, captain.”

            “On the contrary, I am myself now,” he knowingly lied to Yumichika. “I haven’t been myself since I found her.”

            “You’re being childish. Since when do you run and hide like that? Since when are you so craven?”

            “Since I murdered her!” he shouted as he stood up abruptly. _Since we kissed each other’s scars,_ he wanted to scream so the whole Soul Society would hear and the echoes would transfer to the living world. The captain could see that Yumichika did not expect to hear that. The third seat of the Eleventh squad had a much shaper mind and keener eye than his comrades; he must have suspected something like this. He had seen the scar on her chest. No one except he, Kyoraku and Isane knew what had happened then. Most knew only that Unohana had died during a battle. It was a secret he had to keep and he was glad he had had to voice it just once before now. It sounded monstrous, like it was. He had kept his face hidden from Isane when she had asked what happened to Retsu, his words simple, sharp and painful.

            It sounded even more monstrous now that Kenpachi was living with the woman he had killed. That he had found his pleasure in pleasuring her, in touching her, in kissing her impeccable skin and the scar he had left on her chest. It nauseated him to think he had deliberately chosen the most perfect spot on her body, the one he wanted his lips to linger on most; where he could hear her breathing, close enough to her heart, her breasts and her lips.

            “Fuck off, Yumichika, that’s an order.”

            The handsome man quickly gained back composure and sighed, pointing to the small box with a painted yarrow on top. “At least smear this over the wound. Get the medic at your house to look at it. You might need a stitch or two. Go home. It’s getting even colder outside.”

            He did not. Kenpachi stayed in his study as the sky was getting darker and did not even bother to turn the light on. He had been called many things – beast, murderer, monster, but never craven. Yet it was how he behaved; he was craven and weak, the most detested qualities in the Eleventh division. Kenpachi looked at flower upon the little box – the yarrow, their insignia. Fight, it said, do what you are best at. **_Fight_**. Centuries ago, when he had been still just a child, she had chosen that flower, he knew, as she was aware of every flower’s meaning. What did the bellflower of the fourth division mean? Yachiru had told him once but now the captain thought it was not the time to remember now. He had to fight.

            Kenpachi got home an hour before midnight. The house was dark and silent and when he entered the living room, he stumbled into Hanataro’s sleeping body. The young boy panicked, terrified by the tall dark figure looming above him, reeking of blood. He was supposed to leave by dusk but obviously, he did not want to leave Unohana alone.

            “Go home, kid. It’s pretty cold to sleep here.” Hanataro mumbled an apology and hastily left, forgetting his medical bag. At least she had not been alone. The captain went to her room and put his hand on the door. If he stood still, he could hear her turning in bed. Retsu was in her room, probably asleep and he knew she awoke just as easily as he did. Perhaps his apology could wait until the morning.

            The man entered his room, tore away his ruined uniform and put on a pair of knee-length pants. The night was cold, so he took two blankets from the wardrobe and went to bed. He lied down, hissing in pain, as the movement made his wound bleed again. If that fight did not help him get her out of his mind, at least it wearied his body, making him succumb to sleep faster, unaware that Retsu’s scent on his pillow had its effect on him too.

            That night he dreamed he was back in her bosom. His lips were on her scar once again, kissing the ruined flesh feverishly until he could not breathe. His hands were holding her tight enough to leave bruises on her pale skin and when he pulled away to take a breath and looked into her eyes, he heard her whisper.

            “You haven’t had your fill.”

            Kenpachi’s eyes returned to her chest and he saw her scar, no, her wound bleeding; the red liquid flowed down between her breasts and over her pallid stomach like a dark tide. The sweet metallic taste in his mouth and her words made him choke. He had been gnawing at her chest, feeding off her, trying to reach her heart, to bite the beating muscle with his sharp teeth. It was not only her body that he desired. He wanted to devour her heart and thus to make it his. Retsu gently smiled at him like a mother would to her child and, running her fingers through his hair, brought his mouth to her bosom again. She always gave and he always took. _I haven’t had my fill_. He felt tears sting his eyes but he could not stop. It tasted so good; it was **her** heart after all.

            The man woke up in the dead of night into another nightmare. As if this was a cursed repetition of the last night; once again she stood by the side of his futon. He quickly sat up and threw his covers to the side, ready stand up and stop her. The captain could still taste the blood in his mouth. He saw the bite mark he had left on her throat. There had been no need to – he was responsible for every mark on her body. He needed to stop her from coming near him. _Don’t let me eat your heart out._ She always gave and he always took until there was nothing left to give and yet he wanted more.

            He dared to look her in the eyes, hoping he had the strength to fight the desire he saw the night before, but instead found only melancholy. Her arms were wrapped tight around her body until she reached out and he did the same. Her fingers hesitantly touched his, lightly, as if she were a ghost, before she pulled away. She was cold as the grave. Dazed by his fears and regrets, Kenpachi had forgotten to give her blankets and the night was cold, too cold. He took her hands between his palms, warming them and brought her down to her knees. Retsu averted her gaze, somehow guilty of their closeness.

            “You’re so cold. Why didn’t you come sooner?”

            “I did not want to bother you. I did not want to come again. But I had to be certain.” Her voice sounded distant, filled with remorse and hesitation.

            “Of what?” He asked as he laid her down on his futon, covering both of them with the blankets. Kenpachi wondered if he was fighting or giving in. _My fight is not with her, it is for her sake, by her side_. Even if it meant against himself. She was still shivering, her hands trembling in his. The man took her ice-cold feet between his legs.

            “I dreamed it was calling me. A place for me had been marked. It said I belong there.” Came the answer, whispered as if someone else could hear her if she said it aloud.

            “Who? What?” Retsu slid her palm out of his hold and pressed it flat against the ground between them. The man read her gesture: the earth. Death had a claim on her. He pulled her trembling body in a tight embrace and he felt a sharp pain below his heart. The wound was bleeding again but it did not matter – perhaps his blood could warm her even better; perhaps it could chase the Death away. Perhaps, it could claim her as his. Her small form fit so well in his arms and his warmth calmed her down, stopping the trembling, lulling her to sleep. This could not be wrong.

            “You don’t belong there.” _You belong to me. If Death wants you, it’s gonna have to fight me._

            “Kenpachi…” she shuddered lightly and he knew this time it was not the cold.

            “I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you alone.” He said, holding her tight, his hand in her hair, and Retsu embraced him back. The man felt her body relax, her breathing growing steady and deep upon the skin of his shoulder. Kenpachi swept her hair away from their faces and pressed his nose against her hairline, breathing in her scent, quickly falling into dreamless sleep with her arms around him.

_Never let me go._

            He awoke to the feeling of her warm legs entwined with his. Retsu was trying to pull her legs away from his but he had trapped her. When he opened his eyes he saw her staring at him, her hair turned to mess by his fingers, spread all over the pillow and the floor. He looked at her grey eyes. For a heartbeat, he could see sadness, then surprise written in them. Judging by the faint pink light that illuminated the room it was dawn and she was trying to leave.

            The woman pulled further away and slightly tugged at his feet, trying to slip away but Kenpachi did not let her go. Her eyebrows knitted close together in an expression of pain.

            “You must think me foolish, coming to you in the middle of the night like a child would, scared by a nightmare.” Her voice had changed from joyful to melancholy. He could not blame her; he still remembered his own dream. The blood in his mouth. The sweet metallic smell in the air. The taste of her heart. The mark his teeth had left was still upon her neck, blue, purple and burgundy red, looking more like the creation of a beast than that of a lover.

            “I am sorry about the other night,” he heard his thoughts coming out from her mouth.

            “No, I am sorry for...” For what? He should have regretted leaving his kisses upon her but he did not. What he regretted was spurning her the way that he did. For leaving yet another mark so vile on her body. For not speaking when implored to.

            “I was sorry first and I am sorry more,” she declared in a firm voice, her eyes shining with sincerity and determination. He knew well enough that Retsu would not back down. This was not his battle.

            Kenpachi did not notice her staring at the blood stains on the sheets and the front of her nagajuban or her worried look until she pushed him to lie on his back instead on his side and threw off the covers. The captain let her legs slip from his, involuntarily searching her face for some kind of reaction to the loss of their closeness.

            “How did you get that?” He looked down to his bare chest. The wound was still very much open, oozing sticky resin-like liquid mixed with streaks of blood.

            “A fight,” Kenpachi explained simply.  She gave him a sharp but understanding look.

            “And by what I see you did not had it examined?”

            “I’ve handled worse.” Kenpachi watched her as her eyes took in the proof for his words. He knew it wasn’t a pretty sight. His bare torso was covered with countless scars, some thin and barely noticeable while others stood out, pale against his tan skin. One of the latter started at his left shoulder and ended just below his breast. On his right side, there was a longer, wider one with jagged edges that began at his collarbone and almost reached his navel. Upon seeing those scars Retsu felt emotions she could not explain; she remembered once feeling guilt.

            Suddenly the back of her hand was on his forehead. He was startled by her tender touch and tried to sit up but her other hand pressed his chest down. Next, her face was to the wound and she was sniffing the gaping flesh.

            “Did you at least clean it?”

            “I,” he started, “took a shower.” Retsu scowled at him. “But I put some of Ikkaku’s ointment, the yarrow one, on it to stop the bleeding.”

            “That’s good. The wound is quite deep. I’ll see what I can do,” she said and got up.

            Kenpachi watched her haste out of the room, her small feet lightly treading on the wooden floor with quiet thuds. He had no idea what was she about to do, probably get a bottle of sake to clean the wound and search for some clean rags to bandage it, so he was surprised when she entered the room with a medical bag on her arm.

            “I’m lucky. Now, don’t move.” Retsu rummaged through the bag and took out bottle after bottle, gauzes and small boxes. “This is going to sting a lot.”

            It did but he just smiled though it. Her hands were skilled and gentle but he noticed the raised hairs of her forearm. It was too cold still. Kenpachi shuffled under her scolding look and threw the covers over her shoulders. She smiled weakly at this gesture.

            The captain watched how she fretted over him as she cleaned the wound. He knew it was not the first time she was patching him up but it was the first time he was conscious during it. Had she always been this troubled when tending to his injuries or was it just now because she remembered nothing of him? Retsu was so engulfed in her work, so careful and concerned. The small curved needle pierced his flesh but he did not flinch; her mere presence numbed the pain. She made a couple of small stitches and then dressed the wound.

            For the first time Kenpachi had the opportunity to thank her for her care and he did. The woman smiled insecurely, still uncertain in her skills, which felt not practiced for centuries and took his gratitude for forgiveness. Still, her guilt persisted. As if she had tended to his injuries thousands of times, for hundreds of years. His torso was covered in scars and no doubt, his heart was too. But right now she could see trust in his clear green eyes, trust and determination.

            To fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments, please, for the love of KenUno... literally...


	9. These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really sucks when I have no comments to reply to and to explain my fic further.

            “Can I accompany you?”

            Kenpachi, clad in his uniform and captain’s haori, was ready to leave for the barracks when her question stopped him in his tracks. Apparently, the division could not do entirely without its captain. He agreed to go there every other day with the promise of soon getting back to his usual schedule. Retsu was deemed stable enough and the medics who used to stay at the house were revoked from this duty, Hanataro’s shift being the last.

            When Kenpachi had told her about going back to work, she had been happy for him. She had commented that he would finally get to fight after so many weeks spent at home. He had been happy too. It was one of the good things about his captaincy – doing what he liked was part of his job. But so were writing reports, signing and filing them, attending captain meetings and all the other bureaucratic bullshit he had to deal with.

            Then his happiness had slowly diminished, even more so when he had realised it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  

            He turned back and looked at Retsu.

            The woman who had been living with him for the last couple of months and a half. It seemed that every time she came into his life, it changed irrevocably. **He** changed irrevocably, time and time again. Ever since that night in the storm and the following one, he had not been the same. Kenpachi found it hard to be simply around her and even harder to be away from her. At night, his bed seemed made of thorns. Instead of sleep, shameless thoughts flooded his mind and he knew of only one cure. As his hand was sliding under the hem of his pants, he often wondered if she thought of him late at night with her fingers dipped where his had been. He never really had any shame to begin with.

            The woman who had been occupying his mind for the last century and a half. Unlike him, she seemed carved out of a diamond. Unrelenting. Eternal. In the cold light of morning, his nightly musings seemed absurd. The night in the storm changed nothing for her. Retsu acted the same way around him as she always had.

            The captain thought her sound asleep but now she was standing by the front door, wearing her blood red furisode, held tight by a white obi that matched her the brilliant whiteness of her tomoeri but her feet were still bare. She was fresh out of bed.

            “I’m sick of sitting here all day, especially when you’re not around. I understand if you think I’d get in your way. After all you have duties,” she continued when he did not deliver a response. His ‘duties’ today would consist of sparring with his division and taking an afternoon nap. Maybe signing some reports if Yumichika nagged too much.

            “You should come with me,” the captain said without hesitation. He would be glad to have her around and he knew he could hardly deny her anything. Retsu smiled gently and he marvelled at the fact that his simple words could make her smile like this. Could it be that she liked his company? He waited while she rushed back to her room to put on a pair of white tabi socks. After she slipped on her zori, the captain opened the door and they left.

            Kenpachi had to get used to walking beside someone, not leading or carrying them. Her steps were smaller than his, restricted even more by her tight kimono while his robes allowed him to move more freely. He slowed down and she took the opportunity of taking his arm, thus anchoring him. Although he did not expect her gentle hold, his arm instinctively folded at the elbow and he glanced at her. The woman was looking forward but when she felt his eyes on her looked up and smiled, stirring everything inside him. He used to despise her irritatingly polite smile – it always looked fake to him, forced, simply a part of her mask. How could a murderer smile so sweetly? But now he felt completely disarmed.

            The shinigami from the 11th division were already training when the pair arrived. Suddenly, silence replaced the clang and chatter. Some were surprised to see a woman in the barracks; others were surprised to see that very same woman holding their captain’s arm. A few of the older recruits recognized Unohana and she frightened them to death; every single one of the newer men were utterly smitten with the unearthly beauty of this mysterious stranger. 

            Ikkaku and Yumichika went to greet her, breaking the silence. The lieutenant still seemed somewhat awkward and embarrassed around Retsu but the other man had grown openly fond of her. After all, he was known for admiring beauty and she was the most beautiful woman in Soul Society. He had come as far as bringing her some small gifts, things he claimed were lying around unused in his room while she had so little belongings. A beautiful bristle hairbrush, a decorative hair comb, a delicate painted fan with silver slats. Retsu had tried to politely refuse all of those but he had persisted to the point Kenpachi had interfered, convinced that the handsome man had been annoying her. To his surprise, this had made the woman defend his third seat and accept the gifts. She enjoyed his and the lieutenant’s company even if she was slightly too amused by Ikkaku’s behaviour.

            “I hope we don’t bore you too much,” Yumichika said.

            “You won’t at all. I’d like to watch you spar.” Retsu let go of Kenpachi’s arm and gracefully walked to the porch, ignoring all the eyes that followed her. She sat down on the porch in a formal posture, placing her hands in her lap, holding the silver handle of the fan she had taken out of her sleeve.

            The men in the yard gained back some of their senses and the sparring resumed. Two of the best of the new recruits approached Kenpachi and he accepted their challenge. He never refused a fight and further more he liked their boldness. Nozarashi was soon out of its sheath and steel met steel with a burst of sparks.

            They attacked him at once but the captain managed to block both their swords. They had potential. Another swing and one of the swords caught the fabric of his uniform over his upper arm, slicing it, leaving a thin red line, barely brimming with blood. The man who had made the hit looked somehow shocked and terrified but Kenpachi was just beginning.

            His slashes grew more violent while he was still holding back his strength, trying to savour the fight, which he could end in the blink of an eye. Cuts appeared on the men’s bodies but they still persisted. A quick glance to Retsu and the captain noticed her intense eyes, piercing him, while her fan hid the lower half of her face. He grinned and looked back at his opponents. They fought well together but what would happen if he separated them, he wondered. So he did just that.

            Nozarashi met one of the swords truculently enough to send the weapon flying away from the man’s hands. A samurai with no sword was a dead man. Nevertheless, Kenpachi left him and pushed the other man. One, two, three defences until he saw an opening he didn’t want to miss.

            “One corpse.” Nozarashi was over the heart the man. Kenpachi sensed the attack behind him and swiftly turned around, striking a massive blow with his sword that threw his opponent back and onto the ground. The captain put his blade on his throat.

            “Two.” The man stood up and went next to his partner.

            “You fought well. But you should learn to fight better separately. Whatever formation you’re in, eventually chaos becomes the ruler of the battle field.” Kenpachi glanced at the woman sitting on the porch and she smiled, having heard his advice. Feeling irrationally proud, he smiled back, involuntarily inspiring terror in the battered men in front of him. He sheathed Nozarashi and went to her side.

            “You give good advice, **Captain**.” He grinned at her stressed pronunciation of the title. Her gaze slowly shifted to his bare sweat-covered chest and she brought her fan between them, sending whiffs of wind in the direction of his torso and face. It felt so pleasant and she was smiling, the sun shining brightly in her face. Yet there was a certain longing in her eyes that he wanted gone.

            “Is there something? Tell me.”

            At this, she sighed and closed her fan, her lips thinning to a tight line for a second. Kenpachi knew instantly he was not supposed to read her so easily. She looked down and away from him.

            “Tell me.” _Speak to me, you can speak to me, your voice does not hurt me_. Kenpachi took her hand in his and squeezed it. “Do you want to fight?” Retsu stared at him with wide eyes, amazed by the fact that he knew her so well, that he understood her. He knew that desire too well to deny her.

            “I shouldn’t.”

            “Why?” Somewhere deep inside, Kenpachi was selfishly glad that she was reluctant to fight. That way he would remain the only one who had seen this side of hers. It would be all his to worship.

            “I—” He could see the struggle in her features. “Kenpachi, I really shouldn’t,” she offered nothing but opposition. Something was stopping her. He knew that before that final fight with him she had not fought for centuries. No one knew of her strength but he, the old man, Kyouraku and Ukitake. Was she… ashamed? Or worse – disgusted? Fuck his selfishness. One should be proud of their strength, she should be proud of her strength but if she wanted him to do it, he could threaten the whole division with painful death to keep silent of what they would witness. Only if it would make her at ease and fulfil her well-concealed desires.

            “Yumichika, bring a sword.” The captain shouted and soon the third seat came to them holding a training weapon.

            “For you, Captain?” The handsome shinigami asked and Kenpachi finally looked away from the woman sitting on the porch in front of him.

            “No. For her.” He answered firmly and took the sword he was offered, then placed the handle in her hand and closed her fingers around it. The tall man saw something all too familiar rise in her eyes, her hands beneath his, gliding over the crossed threads, a faint smile blossoming on her lips. She was giving in. Electricity crawled up his arms, stemming from their touch, tracing the trees of his veins. Retsu looked up at him, her grey eyes shining brighter than the polished steel in their hands. Kenpachi marvelled at the airs of joy and freedom, which surrounded her.

            He reassuringly nodded at her and felt her hands clutch the sword.

            “Captain, is it wise?” Yumichika was sincerely worried. Unohana was—, had been a captain but now she was still… Unwell. He knew the medical care had been dismissed but having her fight troubled him. A knot had settled in his belly.

            “Ayasegawa-san, you needn’t worry for me. Or perhaps you think me weak?” Retsu used her smile that cut like sharpened glass. “Would you like to be my opponent, Ayasegawa-san?”

            “I could not possibly fight you, Unohana-sama. I’ve already lost to your beauty.” Yumichika hoped whomever she would choose to be her opponent he would be wise enough to be careful.

            “Pity.” Her eyes flickered to the tall captain but she glanced away. “Lieutenant Madarame?” A sharp look from Kenpachi and an even sharper one from Yumichika sealed the deal. The third seat trusted him more than anyone else. It would all be well.

            Ikkaku gave a nod. “I’d be honoured to.”

            “It’s all set then. We dance.” Retsu took the sword’s handle and unsheathed it gracefully, throwing the scabbard on the porch. Her fingers glided over the edge of the blade testing its sharpness.

            “I never expected you’d make me fight with such a dull sword, Kenpachi. It will do, somehow.”

            Everyone that was still fighting stilled and the men split, allowing their lieutenant and this mysterious woman to have the yard to themselves. Some of the rookies dared to throw vulgar remarks at her but the older shinigami quickly silenced them.

            “Until one of us yields.” Ikkaku said, affirm that if he manages to let a hair fall off her head, his captain would give him the slowest and most painful death. The lieutenant did not know what to expect: he held a lot of respect towards her, being a former captain, one of the oldest ones, a woman that could turn you into stone with her sweet smile but he had never seen her fight. Unohana was a healer and her squad was the weakest one. She did not even use to carry her sword around; instead, she had her lieutenant carry it. And furthermore there was no reiatsu in her now. She could not use kido, she had no zanpakuto, no shikai or bankai. She was just a woman in a dark red furisode, but she was his opponent and he had to pay his respects and give her a good fight, however short and uneven.

            Leaning against one of the wooden beams that supported the penthouse of the porch, Kenpachi nervously watched them take positions. Ikkaku had decided to be chivalrous and let her make the first attack only to meet a vicious swing that could have sliced through his shoulder down to his chest.

            A synchronized gasp shook the training ground as no shinigami of the 11th squad did expect that this beautiful frail-looking woman could deal such blows. Unohana was faster than the lieutenant was and more agile, as if she was floating in mid-air, her feet never quite meeting the ground. He found the time to pull himself together and attacked her but she defended herself effortlessly.

            Ikkaku remembered tales of how Aizen chose to run instead of facing her. Retsu swung and slashed, meeting the lieutenant’s steel, and Kenpachi found himself grinning, excited to the point of arousal to see her fight like a heavenly goddess, his nails digging into the wooden beam he used to be leaning against. _It is her_. She was a fury, a swirl of black hair and dark red fabric, adorned with embroidery that matched in colour the steel in her hand. Darkness, blood and metal.

            The difference in their skills became more and more apparent – while the man seemed to grow tired and helpless against her attacks, she seemed to gain more strength, more speed, more concentration as if her body was remembering all eight thousand fighting styles she had mastered. Ikkaku gathered all his power in one last attack and for a moment, he was foolish enough to believe that he had her. Then, the sound of metal scraping against metal. Impossible, her sword was still in her other hand. The lieutenant recognized the smaller metal object that had deflected his blade – it was the fan she was holding earlier. Her sword stopped by his throat.

            “All is fair in love and war. Yield, lieutenant,” the woman demanded and he had no choice but to admit his defeat.

            “I yield.” Ikkaku’s words marked the end of the duel and her victory. Retsu smiled sweetly and they bowed. The 11th division was still silent, unable to process the way this woman fought. Even the older shinigami, the ones who knew Unohana, did not expect her to see such swordsmanship.

            She looked with pity at the fan’s dented slat and put it back in her right sleeve. She tapped the palm of her left hand with the flat side of the sword, as she got closer to Kenpachi. She pointed to him with the sword.

            “Ladies’ choice.”

            “No.” All his joy vanished. _No._ He could not fight her. Not again, not now. Everything collapsed over him, a nightmarish memory, his and his alone. His hand on the curve of her back after he had drawn his sword out of her chest. The light in her eyes slowly waning. The sound of blood gushing to hit the ground, blood gurgling in the back of her throat as she struggled to speak. An awful, wet, nauseating sound. She did not remember what had happened and she could not know what he felt. Kenpachi grasped her blade and heard her inhale shakily.

            “Kenpachi, let go.” Retsu sounded alarmed. She never imagined such a response from him. “I’m sorry, Kenpachi, please.” She was pleading but he remained deaf to her words and those of Yumichika.

            “Kenpachi, I will hurt you!” _Child, I will hurt you_ , her words from a century ago came back to him. _Hurt me_. His hand tightened around the blade and he felt it getting slick with his blood, the crimson liquid running down in the gaps between his fingers and dripping on the ground. Only blood could pay for blood and he doubted there was enough in his body for expiation. Retsu’s left hand went to her head as she closed her eyes in pain and cried out, taking him out of his destructive trance and into a hell he never wanted to back to.

            The sword fell with a clang and she came down as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been 196 days since my last received comment.... You want me dead, huh?
> 
> If you are a kind soul and on tumblr, I'm @decomposion, give that chapter post a reblog - it's somewhere on the first page.


	10. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm late but I was stranded for 2 weeks in my dorm room with no Wi-Fi and no laptop and some shit went down... Whatever, on with the show!

            Yumichika and Ikkaku managed to catch her before she hit the ground. The captain rushed to her and fell on his knees, putting his left hand on her back to support her limp body. Her head remained thrown back – her slender neck stood exposed and he could see the blue veins under her pale, almost transparent skin.

            “Oi, Retsu, wake up!” His right hand cupped her face and brought her head up, smearing blood all over her chin and side but she was not waking up. He felt pathetic; all he could do was kill, never save. The only times he had checked someone’s pulse or breathing was to assure his enemies were dead. They always were. Panic took over him and he refused to check. The memory of her dying in his arms returned. It was the same, the same as it now was, there was blood on her face then as there was now. As if she had fallen asleep except no one fell asleep so easily and so fast. What were worth his power and his strength if he was condemned to live through this time and time again?

            “Retsu, wake up, please! I beg you! Please, wake up! Please, please, please, PLEASE! I BEG YOU!” Kenpachi was screaming and everyone was looking at him mortified and heartbroken. He shook her face, gripping it tighter in despair, as if he could shake off whatever had claimed her.

            “Retsu, please, I beg you,” the captain choked on his plea. He swore he would not be able live though this heartbreak again. He would not be able to truly live without her.

            He thought he saw the faintest tremor in her eyelids and soon her eyes fluttered slightly open. Her bloodless chapped lips parted wider, allowing more air into her lungs and she hazily looked at him. No words could express the alleviation and the happiness he felt. The captain pressed his lips to her cold damp forehead. He could breathe again.

            “Kenpachi?” Retsu was looking at him as if she was seeing something else in his place. His hand caressed her face and she tried to get up but he picked her up in his arms, ignoring her weak protests. She nestled to his chest as he carried her through the yard and into the barracks.

            Inside the air was cool and fresh but it grew stiffer and warmer as he climbed the stairs to the topmost floor. The first floor held his office, the armoury, the large common room where the shinigami supped, a training hall and the bath where they showered. Their small sleeping cells plus the more spacious quarters of the lieutenant occupied the second and the third floor.

            The last floor was reserved for the captain’s apartments. He opened the door with his foot and carried her in. The room was dimly lit and smelled of dust and time. It had not been used since the first days of his captaincy; every piece of furniture stood forgotten and covered with a large piece of white cloth. The man fumbled with removing the dusty sheet that covered the bed and laid Retsu on it before going to the window and ripping the fabric that stopped the light from getting in. He opened the window and returned to her side. She was sitting up, trying to stand but Kenpachi made her lie down again.

            “Oi, what are you doing,” he inquired. The woman modestly licked her dry lips, her tongue clearing some of the blood that was on her mouth.

            “Your hand needs bandaging.”

            Kenpachi gave her a stern look. Retsu was still ghastly pale, the usual rosiness of her lips and sides drained away. She had just collapsed and yet she was worried for him. He ripped a long piece of the sheet that used to cover the bed and wrapped it around his hand. Kenpachi could see her disapproval but she remained silent.

            “It’s done. Now, don’t get up.” he said, standing up, and went to get her a glass of water.

            Retsu watched him exit the room and stared at the door, which he had left open. The draught swirled the dust in the air, making the tiny specs dance in the sunlight. She never wanted to hurt him. Why had he reacted like that? Why did he always seem so troubled? So distant… _Even closer to him, he seems so far away._ She closed her eyes. The coolness helped the woman fully get back to her senses. The sharp pain in her head had died down to a minor throb but the things she thought she saw, the things she thought she remembered could not be driven away from her mind.

            A lassitude in the air. Barren acres. A stray lock of her always-braided hair now brushing against her cheekbone. Words spoken, words unspoken and blood, blood, **blood**.

            The captain almost startled her out of her trance when came back with a cup of water and a wet piece of cloth, taking her out of her thoughts so suddenly. He gave her the cup and watched as she drank thirstily. Retsu thanked him and he proceeded to clean his blood from her face with the cloth. She was looking at his face as he did that, as if she could see something more to him than what met the eye.

            “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she spoke, her voice full of remorse. Kenpachi remained silent. He hurt had hurt himself. _The blade is pointed at me and I still hurt you_. _I hurt myself and yet I still hurt you_.

            “Don’t apologize. It was my fault entirely. This whole thing.” The towel was wiping the crimson off her face until it left her ivory skin bloodless and clean. He left the now reddened cloth on the simple table next to the bed and proceeded to stand but Retsu caught his bandaged hand. The captain looked at her, still shaken from what had happened.

            “It’s not just your fault,” she said and he pressed his lips together in a thin pale line. She wouldn’t let him take the blame even when it was his to own. _I have worse sins to bear, sins you are yet to remember but this is no less a sin._ How much was she going to forgive?

            The captain bent forward and pressed his forehead to the back of her hand.

            “I got you worried, didn’t I?” He straightened a bit and looked at her. Worried was an understatement. He would never tell her but Kenpachi had been mortified. The sudden alleviation had made him dazed and delirious to the point he now felt too calm; as if his heart was beating too slow.

            “I thought I—,” Kenpachi started, knowing he would not finish his words. _I thought I would lose you again_.

            “Unohana-sama!” Isane entered the room, accompanied by Yumichika who chose to stay in the doorframe. The black-haired woman greeted her and carefully sat further up, her hand still holding Kenpachi’s.

            “What happened? Ayasegawa-san did not tell me you were injured,” the captain of the Fourth squad inquired, eyeing the bloody rag on the bedside table. Yumichika had ran off to fetch a medic and found her in the barracks of her division. He had quickly explained what brought him there and led her to Unohana.

            “I’m not. The blood is his.” Retsu moved her hand from over his poorly bandaged hand. “I fainted. I’m alright now, I’m feeling a little weak but I’m alright.” The captain of the fourth division wrapped a cuff around her arm and pumped it tight with air, while listening to her heartbeat and looking at the barometer in her hands.

            “Your blood pressure is low. It must be the sun and… the exercise. Drink lots of water. Something to eat will do you good too. Rest well.” Isane spoke more to Kenpachi than to Retsu. The black-haired woman gave a nod and apologized for the trouble, which she dismissed. She bid her farewell and walked to the door, followed by the other captain, before the Unohana called her name and asked her to take a look at his hand.

            He half-closed the door and suddenly looked even more desolate.

            “Your hand…” Isane started, motioning to the bloodied bandages.

            “I’m fine.” Kenpachi quickly cut her off. Perhaps his hand was not so badly wounded but fine was the last thing he seemed to be. “It wasn’t the sun and the exercise. It was my fault. I agitated her.”

            Isane frowned in doubt. While it was possible for such thing to happen, it was highly improbable. The low blood pressure spoke for itself. Unless there was more than what met the eye. He looked more troubled than she had ever seen him be.

            “What exactly happened?” she asked.

            „I was reckless.  If I had accepted her invitation to fight, maybe... I did not even think to send for you,“ he said, as if he had committed a mortal sin. There was something sobering about seeing the Man Who Cannot Fall reduced to such a state. They were all human after all and it was evident that he was struggling, all by himself. Her hatred had simmered down to a quiet dislike and she found herself willing to forgive him. Help him even. It was Unohana’s wish to do so – to forgive him and to forgive her for leaving her in such time.

            Isane had asked Kyoraku to tell her everything he knew about Unohana and Zaraki, no matter how little it was. What surprised her most was that he had named his adopted daughter after her; after the woman, he had claimed to hate. The very same woman who he was now taking care of with such gentleness. Had he looked so hurt when he had told her he had killed her captain? She had not seen his face then. Isane sighed.

            “Captain Zaraki…” It was hard to find the words. If he thought fighting was putting something more than physical strain on Retsu, maybe he was right. It seemed to do so on him too. Isane chose to trust his judgement. “Unohana-sama is well. But I need you to keep her calmer in all cases. She is very much better and more stable as time passes but I still fear for her. Maybe that’s going to be all she remembers forever and maybe it won’t.”

            “I understand. I’ll take care of her better.”    

            “I know you will. You do.” The captain looked up at her, in utter disbelief. Isane gave a weak smile – she too could not believe she was saying this to him, but it had proven to be true. “You can go back to her. I leave her to you.”

            He nodded and Isane watched him re-enter the room. She saw Retsu smile at him and closed the door behind him before walking away.

 

 

            Kenpachi knelt behind her with the box of ointment in his hand. It had become some sort of a ritual for them. He enters the room and Retsu sits on her futon, sweeping her hair to the side and over her shoulder. The captain tugs on her nagajuban until he can see her bare skin and the marks he had left. He takes the box and scrapes some of the medicine with his nails, letting it melt on his calloused fingers before gently rubbing it in the scar. His other hand hovers over her naked shoulder and he imagines touching it, his mouth coming closer to her ivory skin in order to press a tender but hungry kiss on the slope of her neck.

            Instead, he stared at the scar under his fingers. He smeared the ointment with practiced movements, trying to wish the scar away. One was enough. They had marked each other for life. His he could see it every time he looked in a mirror, he could see it in everyone’s eyes, in the way everyone greeted him. Meanwhile, Retsu had chosen to hide her scar behind that damned braid. He could not hide his face and he didn’t want to hide it; he felt no shame from her mark on him. His spite towards her used to be fuelled by the fact that she chose to conceal her scar, not because he wanted his gone. The captain could not really blame her now. She had no reason to want his claim on her.

            His fingers left her skin and he saw that Retsu was watching him. She pulled up her nagajuban, adjusting the collar as she fully turned around to face him and express her gratitude. One scar was enough, the captain thought again as his gaze met the mark he had left on her chest. She had stopped applying the ointment on it, claiming that it could not fade even by the slightest. The woman noticed he was staring at it and she lightly caressed the gnarly tissue.

            “It doesn’t hurt. It hasn’t pained me since you— Since the storm.” Retsu confessed.

            _Since I kissed it_. She was cruel to tell him this, to make him think he could heal for once and not damage. Kenpachi felt the urge to tear away the fabric that stood between him and her skin, to lay her down on the futon and press a kiss on her ankles, then her knees and further up on the inner sides of her thighs and between them, before continuing up her abdomen and chest. After smothering the scar yet again, his lips would travel over her neck and sides and at last, he would feast on her lips. Oh, how he would feast. Kenpachi would cover every centimetre of her with kisses in hope that they would steal all her aches and sorrows.

            “I’ll watch over you tonight,” he stated matter-of-factly, unable to leave her after hearing those words. Wilful, Retsu looked at him.

            “Don’t tell me you are still worried about me.” The captain just stared back at her stubbornly. No matter how stupid it sounded, he was. “Don’t be childish, Kenpachi, just go to bed. I’ve fainted before. There is no more reason to worry. I’m fine. Don’t think of me.”

            How when she was the only thing on his mind?

            The woman persisted when she saw her reasoning were not enough.

            “You must be tired and you need rest. I’m alright, nothing will happen to me.”

            He listened to her words, knowing that she had a point. His muscles were pleasantly aching and sleep was slowly seeping into his mind. However, he paid no mind to it. The captain leaned on the wall and stubbornly stared at her again to which she closed her eyes and sighed.

            “I can only argue this much. You’re hopeless.” Retsu muttered woefully and lied down, twisting her upper body to extinguish the kerosene lamp beside her pillow, hoping that the darkness would make him sleepy and he will give up his obstinate vigil, finally going to bed.

            Unbeknown to her, her plan succeeded. With no light to irritate his eyes, Kenpachi made the mistake to close them. All was so quiet that he could only hear her soft breathing, lulling him to sleep.

            “Kenpachi.” She softly called his name and his eyes jolted open, he himself ready to run to her.

            “I’m not asleep. You alright?” He was half-aware that she was testing him but his voice sounded less awake than he would have liked.

            The female sighed and turned in bed. Sleep was heavy on his body once more. He could take a short nap, if she needed something he would wake up fast enough. His brain registered the rustling of her covers and next thing her body was pressed to his, her arms around him and she was pulling him into her futon. The captain half-heartedly tried to oppose her, unsuccessfully. She was stronger than she looked and definitely more awake than him. When Retsu felt him giving in, her grip loosened and she pulled the covers over them. Her bedding was warm and soft and she was even warmer and softer. Kenpachi wrapped his arms around her by instinct, snuggling even closer to her than she was holding him.

            “Stubborn child.,” was the last thing he heard before falling asleep without the chance to protest. “Even closer to you, you seem so far away.”

            He dreamt he was back in the Zaraki district where the air was heavy with dust and the stench of shit and blood. His sword sheathed in yet another man, he put his foot on the corpse and pulled the weapon out. Someone was behind him. He abruptly turned around and swiftly put the tip of his blade to the person’s neck. It was a woman, dressed in fine but old clothes, her face shrouded in shadows; he could see only her black hair reaching down her waist. Retsu? No, this woman was taller and her clasped hands looked older, rougher.

            “I am not her.” She took a step forward into the light and he backed away his sword just as much. “Don’t you remember me?”

            He never imagined her to be so beautiful. How could one remember someone he never knew? Nozarashi fell to his side.

            “They took you away before I could give you a name.” Her eyes were green and pure but weathered and full of grief. “But now you know yourself, Kenpachi.”

            Every word died in his throat. It couldn’t be…

            “You have your father’s face.” The sorrow in her voice struck him like a knife.

            “Who are you?” The captain demanded the answer he knew. He had to hear it.

            “You know who I am. Now that you know yourself, you know.” Sadness was imprinted over her sharp features. “You are a man now and you know suffering much too well. It has made you strong, stronger than anyone. You shouldn’t be afraid.”

            “I ain’t afraid of anything.” He rasped back. He was the Kenpachi and nothing alive or dead could scare him.

            “Then why are you afraid of acknowledging that you love her?”

            “She could never love me back.” He answered before he could think, forgetting to deny the accusation. A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek as she smiled sadly. Kenpachi knew she was about to leave so he put the sword back against her neck, trying to stop her. She still stepped back into the darkness and the shadows crept upon her face. Only her sad green eyes remained until the black closed in, engulfing him completely, warm like a mother’s embrace.

            The captain woke up only to see Retsu’s fair face in front of his. She was close, too close, their foreheads touching; so close he cloud see the tiny purple capillary on the brims of her closed eyelids. Her feathery eyelashes were so long and so many he wondered if he could count even half of the curved black hairs until she awaked. Kenpachi had heard that distance lends enchantment to the view but up this close he felt utterly bewitched. He could see everything – every eyelash, every crease of her lips and the way they moved with her breathing; the fair fuzz on her rosy cheeks; every centimetre of porcelain skin.

            How could he be permitted to hold such beauty? His palm was on her waist and he could feel her chest rising and falling softly before he slid it to the curve of her back only to find it not covered by the blankets. The futon was too small for them in the pose they were – their foreheads touching but their bodies far away. Kenpachi scowled and tried to pull her to him, but she only stirred in her sleep. He quietly cursed that she was so alike him and awoke so easily. The male moved closer to her until the blankets were properly wrapped around them both. His other palm was covered with hers; somehow, it was too much. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, feeling his heart swell.

Perhaps he had to leave. He had no intention, no right to be in her bed, holding her yet again, feeling things he could not understand. Torment. A creeping pain that gnawed and fumbled and caressed him and never hurt quite enough. The words from his dream sounded in his mind. _Am I truly afraid? Do I love her?_ Of course, he did not. At this point he was certain he felt something towards her – attraction, lust, desire, undeniably, but love? One did not kill the person they loved. In return, no one loved their murderer. It had been just a foolish dream.

            But Kenpachi did not want to leave. Leaving reminded him of the time before he met her. No matter what he had driven his blade through, it had been all the same, like swinging one’s sword in the darkness, submerged in a death-like solitude. There had been none like him and Kenpachi had known at once that he was a monster. And then, she had walked in in his life and he had realised he was not alone. The captain remembered the first time he had lost consciousness, no, the first time he had died, and when he had opened his eyes, the left side of his face bleeding and throbbing with pain, Retsu had been gone. He had had to find her again. And he had, only to lose her yet again.

            But she was here now. Kenpachi could not take his gaze off her, his eyes roaming all over her face, swallowing every feature from the straight slope of her nose to the soft pierced part of her ears. He stared until he was certain he could paint her image blindfolded. No one could take away her image from his mind and she could never leave him. This way she would always be close.

            _“Even closer to you, you seem so far away.”_

            Kenpachi almost jerked upright. He had heard those words last night but not in his dream. Retsu had whispered them, to herself or to him, as he was falling asleep. His eyes focused on her face. She was urging him to speak again. To come closer. To open up. To stop hiding his scars.

            The captain felt her take a deeper breath, thus taking him out of his reverie, and she awakened slowly. Her eyelids fluttered and she half-opened her eyes. When she saw him, when she felt his hand on her waist and his gaze on her face, she looked at him and swallowed, then smiled.

            “Good morning.” Retsu spoke and the captain thought this could be all he had ever wanted.

            He released a breath he did not know he was holding in and everything he thought of disappeared, banished by the sound of her voice. There was music in it, rays of light and he was not alone. Her hand was still in his as he watched the world slowly get to her. He was not alone and Kenpachi wanted to be together with her for more than just a couple of nights. He had opened his eyes many times, he had died and he had been reborn, he had been shackled and freed but he was yet to fully awaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments, my birthday is tomorrow! Also the author (who is speaking about herself in third person) is on tumblr at decomposion if anyone wants to talk or anything really.


	11. Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still this week, okay? I kept my promise of biweekly updates (kinda)! Shit has been really, really hectic - I had my birthday, my crush, well, crushed me with a hug, but then he kinda broke my heart (long story) and now he keeps calling me everyday (longer story) and uni is starting, so dorms, and paying for the semester and I had an interview at court and what not... I also have no Wi-Fi at home so I'm living the writer's life at a café!   
> This chapter is the longest I think, everything else that got as long as this one I managed to split into two, but not this, because there's not that much action happening.. but OH, THE FEELS! It may be a little inconsistent but I tried (so hard and got so far, but I hope it would matter in the end).

            The air in the mountain was fresh and pleasantly chilly, laden with the smell of almost summer. The bloom from the trees was long gone but the fruit was still barely formed, small and unripe. Flowers and herbs, however, seemed to thrive.

            The sun still hung low, morning mists settled in the fields and covered the forest floor like wisps of gossamer. They had left the house barely before dawn, a little too early to Kenpachi’s liking, albeit he was the one who insisted on coming along. He would not bear not to have her around on his day off. So, he let the woman lead him through the mountain’s woodland in search of herbs and wild flowers. She knew the way much too well, straying off the paths and going deeper into the forest, deeper than the captain had ever dared **think** of going. The trees seemed to close in around them, their leaves smothering further the still weak light.

            It made him think of how he had heard that mothers scared their children into obedience by telling them stories of witches who roamed the woods in search of herbs for their potions and for innocent victims. Kido was still nothing but magic to him and even traditional healing bordered on witchcraft. Retsu was notoriously profound in both. Good thing he was not a child, nor innocent.

            As if she could read his mind, she turned to look at him with a smile on her lips while still walking ahead. Kenpachi could swear there was a grain of truth in those stories; he felt spellbound. 

            “Can you hear the water? We’re close.” Her voice was as clear and melodic as the rumble he was hearing. Soon enough he saw a stream right in front of them and Retsu stopped by it, a scowl forming on her face.

            “Something wrong,” the man asked.

            “It seems that the recent rains have had their effect. The water used to be rarely higher than my mid-calf.” She reached down to undo the ties of her waraji. “We’d have to get wet.”

            Retsu gasped when she felt his strong arms wrapped tight around her back and knees as he lifted her off the ground. After the captain readjusted his hold, making sure she was comfortable, he stepped into the cold waters. Her arms went around his neck and she murmured in remorseful exasperation.

            “You’re making a habit out of carrying me around.”

            Kenpachi did not know how to respond to this. He liked sparing her from walking when she was weak; from the cold when he could be the only to feel it. He liked how her body fit in his hold. It made him feel that he could keep her safe, no matter how foolish it sounded, given that the first time he had held her she was dying in his arms by the wound he had inflicted on her. He was the only one he knew to have hurt her. He glanced down and saw it even now, peeking behind the high collars of the kimono, a constant reminder of his actions. _How can I keep her safe if I am the only one who has ever hurt her_? His grip on her remained firm as his calves ploughed the freezing water, no less chilling than his thoughts. 

            Once on the shore again, the captain let her down carefully, oddly aware of his own heartbeat. Retsu’s hand glided over his chest as she was steadying herself as her feet touched the ground. He found himself torn apart between stepping back, trying to hide his rapidly beating heart, and giving in to her touch, putting his palm over her and pressing it down, letting her know how alive she made him feel. In the end, he did neither. She looked him in the eyes and thanked him, before gesturing ahead to where the woodland seemed to glow in blue.

            “You see it now. Come with me.”

            How could he not?

            The woods became sparser, the still weak sunlight gently falling in crisp rays. The small plants scattered over the soft turf gave way to taller blue flowers, and Kenpachi recognized them at once. The flowers of the Fourth. Her flowers. Bluebells. So many of them that the forest floor resembled a bright exotic sea that swayed with the wind.

            The man stood stiff in his place and watched as she made a several more steps forward and placed her basket on the ground, already full of bear’s breech, columbine, henbane, larkspur, nettle and other plants, the names of which he did not remember. Retsu knelt amidst the flowers, a spot of midnight black and brilliant white interrupted by the flashing crimson of her sleeves as she cut through the bluebells’ stems with a small knife. The flowers, the rays of light, the serenity and the grasp he felt around his throat. She. Witchcraft.

            Her skilled hands placed the bunch and the knife in the basket next to her that was now heaping full. She prepared to stand up but something caught her attention. The woman bent to pick it up and then got up on her feet, holding it gently with her fingers. She walked closer to the captain who was still too enraptured by the view.

            “Sankyou. The skeleton flower. Have you seen it before?” Retsu asked, strengthening the spell over him and showed him a bunch of little white flowers that shared a stem and resembled apple blossoms.

            Kenpachi answered negatively. He never minded the grass beneath his feet. She held the little plant front of her face with three fingers in and pressed her lips together. When she released them, they were glistening with wetness and she carefully kissed one of the flowers. Kenpachi watched the petals disappear as if her alluring lips had melted the flesh off its bones. The skeleton flower. The kiss of her sword had done this to them, would her kiss do the same to him? He stepped closer to her and stared down at her face and her enticing lips with feverish intensity, willing to be flayed and stripped to the bone.

            As if she was beckoning him to finally have a sip of her and he could. He could drink her like a sweet cup of both the poison and the medicine. He could kiss her insane and lay her down amidst the flowers. He could let his lips roam all over her skin, over her scar that she claimed brought her no pain anymore, as if his kiss had healed decades worth of pain. He could take her, he could surrender to her until there was not a single bluebell left standing tall.

            The sheer amount of willpower it took not to act upon his wish drained even a man as strong as him. The captain could not have her, not like this, not now, not in any way, probably not ever. He felt a dull, searing ache in his chest.

            All he could do was watch as Retsu brushed past him and went to sit by one of the trees, its thick roots protruding the earth before submerging into the black earth. She stared at the basket full of herbs and flowers that she placed on the ground next to her feet, seemingly sinking into a melancholy air. Kenpachi knew the distance between them was too much so he followed her to sit by her side.

            When she felt him near her, she spoke, not tearing her eyes from the plants before her.

            “It is so strange, so infuriating. I remember the name and purpose of every herb and the meaning of every flower, yet I cannot remember the names of my closest friends.”

            “You remember most of them. You know who you are and that’s the most important thing there is.” He knew the pain from the latter much too well. The creeping feeling of hollowness that nothing could ease. Of not having something everyone else had, something as small and simple as a name.

            “It’s so infuriating, Kenpachi!” Her hands were shaking as she repeated herself. “Everything seems long gone but I know it’s somewhere within me, hiding in my brain. As if I’m blind and deaf and isolated and everyone knows more about me than I do. I can sense it, everyone keeping some grand secret from me. Yes, I now remember who I am, I remember Isane, Kyoraku and Ukitake and the trail of corpses behind me but I don’t remember anything about **you**.”

            Kenpachi pondered why she was placing such importance on him. It only made her suffer. He found himself torn apart. He was the only one earning something from the loss of her memory of him – Retsu was now by his side, something that he thought has always been impossible, and although he intended to care for her, it seemed that he also got cared for. He had woken up beside her twice and every time it felt like being born again. _She always does that to me, doesn’t she?_ Making him weak and stronger at the same time. He had the strength to help her carry her burden but he did not know how to offer her that very same help and Retsu was growing distraught.

            “I wonder would I find you if I were to crack open my skull or open any vein of mine?”

            A knife in his chest would have hurt less than her violent words.  

            “Look at me, Retsu.” The captain turned so he could face her and held her chin, lifting up her face. He could see that her eyes were slightly open but she was looking down and away before she blinked and moved her gaze to him. “You wouldn’t do such thing.”

            “I wouldn’t, would I?” she said with a shaky exhale through her and looked away again. What was meant to be a laugh came out of her mouth more like a sob. His hand moved to her cheek and caressed it. 

            “You’ll remember everything.” _Even me. And the coldness. The silent hatred. You will hate me even more. I took advantage that night, every night and every day, I took more kisses and caresses than I had the right to. I took more than I should have and I’m still hungry for so much more._ Her eyes were full of trust. Kenpachi’s hand slowly left her face.

            “I can’t help but keep wondering why did you choose to take care of me? Of this criminal, this woman, unrelated by blood or any other familial bond, who can’t even remember you?” He had never asked himself that question. It seemed so natural, to be by her side, to eat together, to tend to each other’s wounds. But why indeed, he pondered. They had never been even friends. Was it pity? No. Guilt? Hardly. Admiration? Not only. The blood they have spilt related them far stronger than any family bonds.

            There was a lump in his throat, one that Kenpachi could not swallow.

            _Why are you afraid of acknowledging that you love her?_

He looked down at her and their eyes met. _Fuck._ Love? Impossible. Only the notion of it made him want to laugh. He was not certain he was even capable of feeling love. There was none of it in the Zaraki district. It had always sounded distant to him, a man who had not known neither mother’s affection, nor a girl’s shy crush.

No longer wanting to laugh, he wanted to get up and run to the living world and back, his body too static when his mind and heart were racing. What he felt now was so sanguinary and so holy; yet raw nonetheless. Even if it was love, it was futile. He could never hope she would ever love him back. She used to hate him, always eluding him, watching him with silent coldness. Love was unreachable and even desire seemed improbable. He would take whatever she was willing to give; he was greedy as that. It was still impossible. He had murdered her. Who could desire, who could love their murderer? _Once she remembers me, I’m gonna lose her forever._ He could never have her like she had him.

            It all made sense. Perhaps he really had the answer to her inquiry. _Why?_ It seemed to be love. Yet the question how she could ever grow to love him back tortured him. He wanted her to love him. Kenpachi firmly believed in changing things with one’s own power but all the power in the world was useless when it came to this. He could not make her love him; he could not put his sword to her throat and force her to do so. He could not and he did not want to.

            He had heard rumours. The most beautiful woman in the Soul Society was bound to attract suitors. Kyoraku. Ukitake. He believed he had seen the latter’s feelings with his own eyes. The late captain’s health used to deteriorate frequently so her care had been needed often. Kenpachi knew he was not imagining things. Isane’s sister, he forgot her name, liked to voice her opinion on how good a couple they would be. He had heard her once while making his way out of the barracks of the healing squad. She had been there, accompanying her captain. She had described them as kind, humble, dignified and graceful; a match made in heaven, she had claimed, and the medics around her had all expressed their agreement. However, they did not know her like he did. And yet he was the one she kept running from while she spent her time taking care of Ukitake… Zaraki had been quick to make his exit, clutching at his healed wounds. 

            The list went on. Her previous lieutenant. Some nobleman whose name he had long forgotten. Countless others whose names he never remembered that made him wonder about how much more he did not know. Rumours had it that Retsu had refused all of them, safe for a brief fling with the current commander centuries ago. She could have any man; why the fuck would she choose him?

            There was something in her higher than what surrounded her. She liked to read and sing and paint, she was the most beautiful woman in the Soul Society, she was intelligent and well educated, graceful, gentle and skilful; she was a gifted healer and a fearsome swordsman and as if that was not enough – an ikebana master.

            What could he offer her in return? He was strong, yes, but had no fortune and no title except that of a kenpachi and she had it already. He had nothing to give her except himself. And what was that? He was gruff, reckless and mannerless, quick to anger. He was not handsome, nor very intelligent. Well-educated? Nowhere near; he could read and write but not without struggle – even Yachiru used to be far better at this than he was and he took pride in it. It may not have been her favourite pastime but for her reading came as natural as breathing.

            Kenpachi had been glad when she told him that she had signed up for the ikebana class even if Unohana’s name left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. She was a far better role model for Yachiru than he was. His adopted daughter seemed to take a liking to the captain of the fourth division. He remembered that once had not come home hours after dark so he had gone searching for her. Kenpachi had found Yachiru, had found them in the ikebana classroom in the barracks of the healing squad. The little shinigami had been sound asleep against the black-haired woman’s soft chest, the latter herself leaned against a wall and submitted to a peaceful slumber amongst the flowers that had been left still unarranged on the floor. Her legs had slipped from underneath her but the fabric of her loose hakama had remained trapped under her weight and Kenpachi could see the milky-white skin of her calves. Her face had been calm and untroubled, her lips slightly parted and her slender fingers had been resting on the child’s back. The man remembered something cutting into the muscle inside his chest.

            His intrusion had awoken Retsu and she had been quick to look at him mortified and regretful. Her mask had been shattered and gone. She had got up with the child in her arms, cradled to her bosom, and walked to him. The woman would have handed him the lithe form were it not for the small hands that held on tightly to her haori. The captain had realized he had to tell Yachiru who she was named after. He never did. Retsu had tenderly ran her fingers through the pink tresses on the head that had been resting on her breasts.

            “Yachiru-chan.” Her voice had been clear and calm and she was smiling. Kenpachi had never seen such gentleness. His pink-haired lieutenant had just held her tighter. “You have to let me go, Ken-chan is here to pick you up.”

            Retsu had looked up to him as she had pronounced his nickname. ‘Re-chan’, the child had murmured and a whiny ‘I don’t wanna’ had followed but had let go nevertheless. The captain of the 11th squad had scooped her up like she weighed no more than a sparrow and she had rested her head on his shoulder, hanging over his chest like the little monkey she had been.

            “Yachiru, I—” He could not remember what he had meant to say and maybe he had never known. He had an unburdened shoulder, perhaps he had to coil that braid around his hand and to pull her close; to lift her up and take her away too. Take her home. She would probably yell and kick and the entire division would come to her help but they could not stand up to him. Only she was his equal – only she could. Then she had spoken thus taking him out of his dreams.

            “Never call me that. Don’t speak.” Her words were cold and sharp as steel but her grey eyes were pleading. “You have to leave.”

            And so he had.

            How could he obey those words, words that even a docile child would not obey? There was this one thing, he realized. Even now, without a drop of reiatsu in her she was one of the best fighters and a skilful healer. Even now, without her powers she still had **power over him** , like she had always had. Kenpachi looked at her, sitting beside him, bathed in spots of sunlight and lost in thought; she and all her joys and sorrows. His heart wanted to leap out of his chest but he had never felt calmer.

            He loved her.

            Immediately, Kenpachi knew for certain that was it. The epiphany of it took over him slowly, filling him with joy at first, then vigour and finally desperation. He wanted to tell her. The captain wondered if ever the words would roll off his tongue and come out of his mouth. I love you. Or they would refuse to be aimed at her and instead would make him choke.

            “We should probably head back soon. It seems like it’s going to rain.” The man looked up and saw the dark clouds coming from west, simply humming in response, too transfixed on her to speak.

            Her following question was sudden and unexpected.

            “Kenpachi, I’ve been wondering for some time now… Do you know anyone who might have called me Re-chan? A pink-haired little girl, I think, who adores sweets. I used to buy her snacks sometimes. I remember she was dear to me. But I can’t even remember her name,” she paused reminiscent of her words from minutes ago, “and I can’t seem to find her anywhere.”

            There was only one person who used such nicknames. Ken-chan. Only one with hair so brightly pink that adored sweets so much. The pain of her absence was there, tucked safely in the back of his chest, but still sharp and constant.

            “You won’t find Yachiru. I couldn’t.”

            “Kenpachi, I…” Retsu could see the hurt in his averted eyes and reached out to touch his hand. So unused to being comforted, he was ready to slap her hand away but he stopped himself, clenching his hand into a fist. Her palm gently covered his fist and he uncoiled it, allowing the woman he loved to console him.

            “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her words were gentle and sincere, merely above a whisper.

            The name he said – Yachiru, messed with her mind. It sounded so familiar, so old. But Retsu could not ask further about it. She hated the hurt she saw in his eyes. She believed that pain made you stronger; she was willing to suffer and to hurt if it had a purpose. _The end justifies the means_. But this pain was meaningless to cause; it brought no strength. It just hurt.

            “No.” Yachiru disappeared before he could tell her about her namesake. Retsu deserved to know. No, she knew, she even **remembered** her. Kenpachi would never risk going against Isane’s advice. He wasn’t to tell her anything that she did not already remember. Her memory would return by itself if it ever returned. Retsu **remembered** Yachiru. He could speak. He would speak on his own volition. She did not need to beg him nor she could silent him.

            “I will tell you about her.”

            Retsu simply looked at him, ready to hear what he had to say.

            “She was like a daughter to me. The only one I could ever call family. Until she disappeared several months ago, during the war. She disappeared the way only souls do – leaving only a pile of clothes behind...” Kenpachi gathered the power to look her in the eyes. He had not spoken to anyone about this. He never dared to bare himself so in front of anyone.

            In Retsu's eyes the captain saw compassion and pain. She hurt for him, with him. He wondered in return what she was seeing in his eyes. More pain? Grief? Love?

            “Do you know what the bluebells mean?” Kenpachi looked at the flowers in her lap. He had heard it once, he was sure. A long time ago, Yachiru had come home from the ikebana class blabbering about what the insignia of the Gotei mean. Marigold for despair and snowdrop for hope. She pestered him until he remembered what the yarrow meant. ‘Fight’, she repeated every time, because warriors use it to stanch the flow of blood from wounds. The bluebell was the insignia of Squad Four. Kenpachi shifted his gaze from their overlapped hands to her face.

            “Those who grieve are loved.”

            Silence followed. Kenpachi could feel her bringing him comfort. Her touch always did. Her healing powers went beyond kido. _Can you love me?_ He saw a single droplet catch in her eyelashes and she closed her eyes to the sudden sensation. Another one landed on her cheek, making her look as if she was crying for him. How could she be so beautiful? Retsu opened her eyes and reached out with her palm turned upward. A thunder rumbled in the heavens.

            “We ought to get back. Fast,” she said and, to his delight, tugged on his hand instead of letting go. The rain poured over them like a curtain, quickly obscuring their surroundings. Hand in hand, they ran through the downpour and the forest. Retsu was fast but the captain was faster, his stride wider and no basket was slowing him down.

            “Kenpachi!” Her voice rang, its clarity muffled by the rain. “Slow down if you don’t want to get us lost!”

            He looked at her stunned and Retsu took the chance to take the lead. The captain’s mind was racing; was this a random remark or perhaps…? The thing he most desired and feared. Was she remembering him and his infamous sense of direction? Kenpachi stared at her as they ran but he was unable to see her face, only the black of her slickened by the rain hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very much appreciated! Find me on tumblr @decomposion if you want to chat about this fic, kenuno, bleach or just life in general (apparently I don't bite)   
> Uh, I also have a kenuno playlist on spotify, if anyone is interested I can share it with you guys, it's really just music that inspired me and helped me shape this fic


	12. The Hardest of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back back back again! Real life wrecked me this month - uni started 3 weeks ago and i'm already doing a ton of reading and we have 8 hours of lectures every day! EVERY DAY and I have to get up at 6am! I also got the internship at court so I have to spend some time there too, and write court rulings in my spare time (I'm off to do this after I update here and on ffnet) MAN, HAVE I BEEN TIRED! (I also watched 3 complete season of AHS but that's on me).
> 
> Kenpachi is also getting rekt this chapter, more than before, but less than what's coming, so, be warned. Also there is some lyrics of an old English song that is so nice, and the lyrics are so edgy™ and I adore it, it's called The Unquiet Grave and I fell in love with it the moment I heard it on Penny Dreadful. The original lyrics, the one that Kenpachi does (will for you) 'mistake' go like "and that's all I crave". Just wanted to get this out of the way so you know what to compare it to.
> 
> Now, I hope you like this chapter, and I'll meet you again in the end notes.

Another signed sheet of paper joined the stack on the right side of his desk and the captain reached to take the next one. A loud exasperated growl tore from his throat. If anything, after the end of the war the paperwork increased, much to his displeasure, and with it – Yumichika’s nagging. Kenpachi could not deny that his third seat was essential to running the division, being one of the very few whose mind was not occupied purely by fighting, drinking, women or a combination of those but was it necessary to start doing the paperwork now when it was due one week from now?

            Zaraki looked at the enormous heap on his left and the dozen sheets of paper on his right. Another growl. Maybe it was, but tomorrow was one of the public holidays in the Soul Society, named after someone whose name Kenpachi could not remember but he thanked for giving him a day off. He desperately wanted to go home as soon as he could. It had been a couple of weeks since he returned to his regular work schedule and, fuck, he still missed her terribly even though they spent the evenings and mornings together.

            The man irritatedly ran his fingers through his hair. He wondered if Retsu was also waiting for him to come home so impatiently, counting the hours until his arrival. She had mentioned before how bored she was when he was gone. He hoped that she did but he doubted it. _Don’t fool yourself. She would never love you._

            But boredom had her effect on Retsu. She had resorted to her hobbies – he could see a stack of watercolour paintings of various flowers and plants beginning to form behind the sliding door of one of the stands in the living room. Although he did not know the depicted flowers, he doubted they were prettier than what he saw, or more vibrant, or their colours more perfectly diffused. The captain hoped she would not notice if he took one to keep it in the drawer of his desk at the barracks.

            Another thing she had been taking up, despite his adamant opposition, was housework. There really was not that much of it which he could not do alone, the house was not that spacious and neither of them had many belongings. He couldn’t persuade her not to help him when he did some cleaning and now that he was no longer on leave she was doing it all by herself while he was away. The difference was subtle but evident – the rooms seemed brighter, the scent of flowers gently adorning the air.

            Retsu was fond of flowers, he already knew. She had placed a plain porcelain vase in the living room, right on top of the cabinet she kept her paintings in, filled it with carefully arranged flowers which she changed every few days, before they started wilting.

            His love would never wilt. While Kenpachi was certain that acknowledging his feelings would not deliver him from madness, a small part of him hoped for some rest from this torment. Every moment apart from Retsu was unbearable and every moment with her was slow torture: every look a knife, every touch – hot iron. Nothing brought him ease. Nothing could. He paid dearly for those stolen moments when he forgot that the woman that he loved was the very same that he had wounded mortally and left to die – the memory of his crime and the realisation that she would never come to love him always came suddenly and tore him to pieces.

            Still, he was drawn to Retsu like he had always been, like moth to a light, like tide to the moon, despite the pain that pierced his soul.

            His fingers played with the brush, the kanji in front of him blurred and even the brief tedious skimming through the text now seemed like hell. This one demanded both a signature and a seal. Kenpachi grunted and opened the drawer to his right. Beneath the division’s seal was her painting of a white flower, the colour delicate and pristine against the cream paper, in stark contrast with the black kanji, which read ‘gardenia’. Fuck this. He was going home.

            The man entered the house and called her name repeatedly but no one answered. He noticed the fresh flowers in the vase – hydrangeas and pink peonies, arranged carefully together with other smaller plants. Her faint singing reached him and Kenpachi followed it to the yard.

_Cold blows the wind to my true love_

_And gently falls the rain_

            His eyes searched for her but found only her feet, clad in zori but otherwise bare, sticking out beneath the white sheets that were hung to dry on the wash-lines.

_I never had but one true love_

_And in Greenwood she lies slain_

            Kenpachi had heard this song before, more than a century ago, when he had just set foot into the Kusajishi district, barely some time before he had found Yachiru. He remembered some details quite vividly - it had been in the small hours of the night and the air smelled like sour wine and even sourer cheap perfume. He had been half-asleep, half-drunk on the bench in the large hall of what people called The Deer Inn – a deceiving name for what everyone knew was more of a whorehouse than a weary traveller’s haven. All the ‘serving’ girls had gone upstairs, some dragging drunk men along, while others were dragged by the latter.

            Only he and the old barmaid, the madam, had been in the mess hall. He could still hear the clicking of the coins and the slushing of the bad wine in his cup but he could not remember the sound of her voice.

            “It’s a first, to have a customer who does not wish to have his way with some of my girls despite knowing he has no money. Especially one as big and strong as you.”

            “I have money.” He really had had. Enough only for two more cups of wine or a quick service from one of the less pretty girls but he had had money.

            “Then what is it? Did you scare my little does? I doubt it, they are quite brave. You’re into boys? You don’t look like that type to me but I learned long ago not to judge people by appearance.” She had sighed. “Maybe bringing some young boys around would be good for the business.”

            The clicking of the coins, up to ten, then the metal scraping against the wood of the counter. He had felt her eyes on him, studying him closely but his mind had been buzzing, he had been drunk and already feeling the hangover that went along with bad wine. Hoarse drunken singing had reached him from the top floor.

_I’ll do as much for my true love as any a young man may_

_I’ll sit and mourn all on her grave for twelve months and a day_

            “Say, boy, perhaps you’re in love?,” the Madame had suggested and he had rasped a laughter back, spilling the red liquid from his cup that could barely pass for wine until he had felt bile burn the back of his throat. Another sigh, this time sad, pitying. She sure had sighed a lot for an old whore. The clicking of the coins again. Ten. The scraping against the counter. A baby had cried somewhere in the rooms behind the bar. A man had shouted obscenities after the half-naked woman who had been climbing down the staircase, pressing her swollen breasts to her chest. The singing.

_And when twelve months and a day have passed_

_The ghost did rise and speak_

            Retsu’s voice was clear and steady and he thought that if sirens existed they would sing just like her. He sought her amidst the warm billowing sheets that smelled like soap and sun. The singing was getting closer and he saw her shadow on the linens that were hung before him.

_Why do you sit all on my grave_

_And will not let me sleep?_

            He reached out, grabbing the sheet and flinging it behind his back. She was right there, just in front of him, oblivious to his presence. Kenpachi sang the words he knew but had never sung before.

_‘Tis I, ‘tis I,_

            The female abruptly turned around, surprised to see him home this early and to hear him sing.

_Thine one true love_

            A shiver passed through him at the words coming out of his mouth. One true love. His, certainly, there could be no other, but hers? It was impossible. Still, it did nothing to stop him from desperately wanting to be.

_That sits all on your grave_

_I ask one kiss from your sweet lips_

_And that’s **not** all I crave_

            The corners of her mouth slightly turned upwards into what would be a smile if she would come out of her state of surprise. Retsu wondered if he knew that he messed up the lyrics and how well he sang. His voice was usually a powerful bass baritone, one that would send the residents of Rukongai fleeting into their houses and barring the doors. His singing voice was just as strong and deep but smoother. She could not help but feel warmth spread up her neck and tint her sides.

_My breast is cold as the clay_

_My breath is earthly strong_

_And if you kiss my cold clay lips_

_Your days they won’t be long_

            If life was the price he had to pay, it was a fair one. However, the captain remembered the night in the storm and the nights they had slept in each other’s arms and knew that her breasts were warm, her breath was sweet as honey and her lips were hot upon his flesh.

            “You got the lyrics wrong.” Kenpachi did not respond. He knew the lyrics by heart. How could one kiss satisfy him when he wanted a million?

            “I’m home,” was all he could say, her smile too much of a distraction to think of anything else.

            “Welcome back,” Retsu replied. “You’re early today, I still haven’t done much—” He grabbed the end of one of the crisp still hung sheets.

            “You did the laundry. I told you many times not to do the housework. I can manage it, you know.” The captain was used to doing the housework for two by himself from when Yachiru was still with him. Being an orphaned child and a Shinigami took enough of her childhood already. Retsu… Retsu would not be with him forever too. He did not want her to slave around for the man she hated.

            Their eyes met briefly, before she returned to removing the laundry pins and folding the bedsheet.

            “I know you can but I don’t want you to. Doing nothing all day drives me insane. This makes me feel useful and less of a freeloader who doesn’t pay rent. And I’m happy to be of your help.”

            She was a stubborn woman but he could not be mad at her for being one. Furthermore, it was nice to have someone help you even if it was not necessary.

            “I have to apologise though,” Retsu continued, looking down before returning her gaze to his eyes once more. “I should’ve asked for your permission to collect the bedsheets from your room.”

            Kenpachi exhaled deeply.

            “You don’t have to apologise. You are free to enter everywhere.” He had nothing to hide. He did not want to hide anything. “What’s mine is yours. You don’t need my permission to do anything.”

            Retsu looked at him, wondering if he realised that he was throwing such big words around. From the mouth of any other man, they would sound stilted and false but she knew Kenpachi was being painfully honest.

            “Thank you,” she said and turned around to unhang the sheet on her other side. The captain noticed she had to get on tiptoes and reach up in order to remove the pins and it brought a smile upon his face; he never would have thought that someone else would use those laundry lines. He reached out and removed the other pin effortlessly, which prompted her to narrow her eyes at him. For the love of life, he could not supress his grin.

            As they were unhanging and folding the rest of the linens, he stole another look at her. Every time she would reach up to the wash-line, the sleeves of her black homongi would slide back to reveal unkissed by the sun skin. Kenpachi took his chance and reached for the pin right next to the one she was reaching for and their arms brushed. He became aware of the sheer feeling of what he could describe only as cosiness, domestic idyll that held dominion over them. _She is not mine to play husband and wife with._

            The grin fell from the captain’s face and his usual scowl returned. Whatever this feeling was it would all be over once she remembers him. His love was for naught. A time would come when Retsu would not be around for him to hear her voice in song or watch her struggle with reaching something placed too high for her. She would not be around, reading peacefully and in silence until he comes to her side and asks her to read to him. The very same voice that once made his scar throb with pain now soothed him like nothing else. All he could do was steal moments like this, touches, words, smiles that were never enough for him.

            “Kenpachi?,” the female called his name as she placed the last bedsheet into the basket. He just hummed in response and turned his face to her, hoping that he had concealed his emotions before looking at her. _Can you see me longing for you?_ She did not need to know the thoughts that plagued him. Her sagacious eyes lingered on his and yet she didn’t press the matter.

            Retsu bent down and picked up the basket with the linens but the male took it from her before she could prop it on her hip. There it was again, her smile that transfixed him so. Then she stood on tiptoes and her hand reached out to wipe the beading sweat from his forehead. He flinched back – she surely did not really mean to touch him right now, he was perspired from the training in the morning, from walking home in the warm weather, he was disgusting and smelled bad and— Her touch made him stop thinking.

            “You’ve just come home from the barracks and I’ve made you break a sweat again.” Whatever disguises he thought he had put up fell immediately. Kenpachi realised he was a fool for even trying.

            “It’s fine, I am yet to shower anyway.” Hopefully, some cool water would slow down the race in his head.

            “Good. I’ll prepare something to eat in the meantime.”

 

            The evening was quiet and peaceful, the only sound being the song of the crickets and cicadas. Kenpachi was in the kitchen, throwing once last glance if he had around everything he had to bring out to the porch for dinner. Retsu was already sitting there, calmly looking at the rising moon after he had refused her help several times and pretty much chased her away once.

            He came to know that she hated bland tasting food. For dinner they were having meat which she had seasoned and left to him to roast while she took a brief bath. Now he was carefully taking a hold of the plates in his right hand so he could take two smaller plates of dango for dessert. It was a relatively easy task given the fact he would hate to make a second trip.

            With the plates in his hands, he walked towards the porch. Kenpachi saw her, sitting with her back to him, in a pose she had once called improper – one of her legs bent at the knee and resting against the wood of the porch; she was hugging her other one, her palm cupping her kneecap. Clad in her thin white nagajuban, she seemed to glow, her long black hair still pinned high on top of her head. The dampness from the bath still lingered on her skin and made the fabric stick to her, tracing the curve of her spine, her small waist and the roundness of her hipbones.

            Retsu turned her head to look at the man behind her. His breathing ceased. As if the moon was placed in her grey eyes; a sight so captivating he could not look away. She smiled at him and stood up to her knees, turning her body around and stretched out her arms so she could relieve him of the dishes.

            Kenpachi was unsure if he bid his body to move forward or if she had put him under a spell.

            At her side he seemed to regain some of his composure. She was not an illusion after all. They talked while supping on the meat, the captain failing to praise its seasoning, instead, just shoving piece after piece in his mouth. It was really good, tender and well-seasoned with spices and, he guessed, herbs. Retsu seemed to eat much slower than him; by the time she was done with her meal, he was already chomping down on his second stick of dango. Putting her plate aside, she noticed that Kenpachi’s side was glistening with sweet syrup. She reached out and wiped it, her fingers caressing his face.

            “Your lips are the only soft thing in you,” Retsu said as she brushed his lips with her fingertips. “Besides your heart.”

            He could not fight the urge to laugh viciously and to give her a psychotic look. She should have weighted her words. Soft was the last thing his heart was – it was the heart of a killer, a heart that rejoiced at the sight of battles, enemies, blood. If she knew he had tried to murder her, he had wanted to hurt her, he fucking hated her for spurning him like she did, for hiding the scar on her chest when he could not and did not want to hide his face… If she remembered, she would have known how wrong she was. Perhaps he had to remind her.

            “My heart is bad. You don’t know me.”

            “I don’t remember you. But I know you. I know what you have been doing for me, what you are doing for me right now and how kind you are. Your heart is kind. Good.” Retsu said right back at him, her voice filled with fierce sincerity and trust.

            Kenpachi laughed again. Kind? Was she blind? He had told her of the corpses behind him; they lived together and yet she chose to call him good-hearted. These games had went on for too long. He could show her how kind he was.

            “But you don’t know what I’ve done to you.” The captain rasped, half-menacing, half-sad. Her face rarely did betray the thoughts beneath but he had come to learn to read every change in her eyes and right now, just for a heartbeat, he could see that he had managed to hurt her. Retsu stood up and walked towards the door that lead to the house before stopping in its frame to look back at him.

            “I too have a bad heart. I have been lying to you, Kenpachi, and to all the others. I’ve always remembered some things about you. Fragments of thoughts, feelings, which I cannot help but think and feel again,” she said calmly. The look in her eyes was searing but it was her words that branded him.

            “You are the only man who has ever made me happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, nice ending, huh! One thing that bothered me was that during their fight in the manga both Kenpachi and Retsu were very much in their head, savouring all their 'positive' (not a good choice of words considering their feelings towards each other were mostly very strong, perhaps too much so, and possessiveness, protectiveness, manipulation even tainted their mutual admiration) to themselves and speaking only of the hatred towards the other. I sure do love tragedy but I cannot leave it like this and it add up a nice amount of angst, doesn't it?
> 
> I love speculating a lot about Kenpachi's time before finding Yachiru. Without her, Ikkaku and Yumichika, his sole focus would have been Retsu, so he had spent years (as a teen and young adult) in this most dangerous, corrupted and ruined part of the Soul Society (and I kinda drifted into some medieval fantasy tropes, but considering the Soul Society is modelled after feudal Japan, perhaps I'm right to go down this path). 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll see you in November with another update!


	13. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M LATE ONCE MORE!!! I might as well die at this point - uni and court are draining the life out of me and I still insist on getting 7+ hours of sleep each night... during which I dream of court rooms and exams. This chapter (and the next) were supposed to be one big 6k chunk but I divided them just last night. I believe I made the right decision. At least the next chapter will come out sooner this way (around Christmas-New Year).   
> Now, after addressing all of my scheduling issues, I want to thank you all for the comments and kudos (even you guests, but you know guests can leave comments too!)

Kenpachi hardly remembered anything past her words except the silence that followed and the sound of her steps as she walked away. Then, the static in his ears, threatening to deafen him. The hairs on the back of his neck standing up, as if the winter had returned suddenly. _You are the only man who has ever made me happy._ He stacked the dishes and walked to the kitchen, then put them in the sink and ran the water over them, watching the water grab at the colourless syrup that was smeared on the topmost plate.

 _You are the only man who has ever made me happy_.

            Uncertain if he did the dishes or not, he found himself in his room, water dripping from his hands. He could not even recall if the light in her room was off when he had bypassed it en route to his own. In a haze, the captain changed for bed before suddenly stopping in his tracks. He had not helped her apply the ointment on the scar on her back tonight. He rushed out of the room but did not enter hers. Instead, he stood by the shoji door, grasping the wood frame tightly. He could see that the light in her room was off. Fuck, it was too late now, wasn’t it? He could burst into her room and what? Tell her he loved her? He could not do that. Fuck! Every time they argued that damned scar on her back was getting further from healing. Kenpachi’s hand let go of the doo and went over the old scar on his face.

            You are the only man who has ever made me happy.

            She was cruel. Cruel to tell him this, to play with his heart in such a way. Retsu claimed that he had made her happy and he was almost afraid to believe it. The captain never expected to hear such thing from her lips. The very notion of it seemed impossible. They had brought each other nothing but pain and suffering. Happiness? How? When? All he had ever done was try to hurt her. And now… her happiness was never his aim. How could he aim for something he was incapable of achieving?

_Fuck._

            She was cruel. Cruel to let him know she was deceiving him now. Any lies she might have uttered before their fight, he would easily forgive. She had lied to him and to all the others. All she did was lie back then. But now… _I should’ve know better._ He had always taken pride in knowing that side of her, which no one knew existed; in knowing her better than anyone; in being different to her compared to everyone else.

            _I am naïve for thinking she could tell me her deepest thoughts_.

            Kenpachi turned away from her door and walked back to his room. He was different. Retsu did not remember him. She did not remember her hate towards him, but nor did she remember anything else. She had urged him to speak many times but he did so just once. He rarely spoke about himself. He never dared to bare himself in front of anyone.

            The captain laid down on his futon. There was not really much to tell. He may have lived for centuries but his life had always been one long fight with short intervals of calmer but never calm rests that he could count on the fingers of his hand. He met her, he met Yachiru, he met Ikkaku and Yumichika, he joined the Gotei 13, he met Ichigo and made some friends among his colleagues. Three hundred years in a sentence. She died in his arms, or at least he believed so. He heard his sword’s voice. He lost Yachiru. All of this in a day.

            Retsu was cruel, this much he knew. She had lied to him, she had shunned him, she had cut and slashed and broken his bones. But to give him hope was by far the cruellest thing she had done to him. Hope that if he had made her happy once, he could make her happy time and time again. Perhaps, just perhaps, then he could inspire something in her, maybe not love but something different from hatred and coldness.

            Kenpachi turned around in bed for the thousandth time since he had lied down and just now noticed that the sheets were crisp and smelled of sunlight, lavender and orange blossoms. She had changed them while he was showering and now he could imagine her hands gliding over the fabric, smoothing every crease, tucking the edges at the ends of the futon. The captain laid on his side and put his palm on the creased sheet. Only if he could trace her exact movements and bring himself closer to her. Only if he could have her sleeping beside him again. Only if he could make her happy again, no matter what he’d have to do to achieve it. In the end, he was different from the others. You are **the only** man who has ever made me happy. Maybe then, he could rest. Not now. He had always been restless.

            He wanted to make her happy.

            Sleep came early in the morning, hardly after dawn, and left him soon. When Kenpachi saw it was no use, he got up and headed for the kitchen. The smell of grilled fish and miso soup lingered in the air. So, Retsu was up too. He saw her as he entered the kitchen, breaking her fast with rice, natto and miso soup. The captain could see a second set laid out for him and almost cringed at the thought of seeing natto on his rice.

            Instead of the beans there was a grilled fish set in a small plate next to the bowl. He thanked Retsu in his mind and walked to the table. She seemed lost in thought but looked up at him as he pulled the chair. The defiance he met last night was still present in her eyes; she had not forgotten anything.

            “Good morning.” Retsu greeted him with unwavering kindness albeit he could hear the chill in her voice. “How did you sleep?”

_You can’t possibly expect me to sleep after what you told me._

            “I hardly did.” Kenpachi caught the emotions that flashed quickly in her eyes – surprise, gladness and remorse, before the wilfulness came back. She said nothing.

            Remaining silent, Kenpachi started eating. Even if she had not forgotten their sharp words, she still took her time to make him breakfast. She had even memorized that he hated natto. Albeit she was obviously still mad at him, she still asked him how he slept. _Stop playing husband and wife with her._ Except he did not want to play.

            The captain stopped everything and stared at her. Marriage? He was raving mad. Retsu would never agree. She had no reason to.

_You are the only man who has ever made me happy._

            It seemed that the woman felt the weight of his stare for she looked up from her food, somewhat annoyed, evident by the crease between her eyebrows. She could swear she was about to snap at him were it not for the troubled expression on his sleep-deprived face. Her words had hit their mark with fatal precision and it seemed it was enough. Retsu could not hold a grudge against him for thinking lowly of himself. If one of them was a bad person, she was certain it was her and the dark circles under his eyes proved the smallest bit of it.

            Kenpachi surprised her when he spoke.

            “Last night… I wanted to hurt you with my words. Forgive me.” Retsu pulled herself together and put her chopsticks to rest on the bowl. She had noticed that he was changing and he was doing it before her eyes. He seemed different from the man who had found her in the mountain and it only left her wondering what kind of man he had been before.

            “I know. I did the same. I’m sorry too,” she spoke calmly, whatever anger and hurt had remained in her after last night already gone.

            Kenpachi took her hand in his and smiled at her before letting her go so they could resume their breakfast. 

            The man once again marvelled at how delicious her cooking was. It was not the first time she made breakfast, quite the opposite, lately he was doing it less and less – by the time he would woken up, she had already stared cooking and would not let him take over. Even simple things like miso soup and rice, things that anyone could make, including he himself, tasted different and sublime.

            A few days ago, she had made some strange dessert. The actual process of its preparation had begun the night prior and Kenpachi had found himself watching with curiosity from afar how she stirred the ingredients and poured heated alcohol into a large bowl, adding more spices than he could count on the fingers of both his hands.

            Retsu had laughed when she had found him in the morning sniffing around the mixture of figs, plums, peaches and liquor, peeking under the cloth she had put over the bowl while the breakfast he was making was cooking on the stove.

            “Just don’t eat it, I’ll need it later. And Yumichika will be mad if you show up to work drunk.” With a bright smile on her lips, she had pried the cloth out of his fingers and let it cover the bowl once again.

            “What are you doing with this?”

            “You’ll see tonight. I hope you’ll like it, it’s my favourite dessert.”

            And so he had. When he had come home that evening the sweet smell of pastry and sugared liquor reached him before he had entered the house. Usually Kenpachi did not care very much about sweets but he had felt his mouth water.

            Unfortunately, he had to wait until after dinner to try it. Retsu cut out two pieces and placed them in plates, then served them with sour cream. It tasted even better than it smelled – rich, fruity and liquorish, very much so that he could probably get drunk if he ate too much of it.

            “You may know,” she started, unusually unsure, “I used to write a column for the newspaper. Two, actually, and one of them was about sweet shops. Sometimes I would ask for a recipe. This one, however, is from the living world… from the time when I was alive. I’ve known this recipe for hundreds of years and yet I remembered it just the other day.”

            He had stared at her as if stricken. Once more, it had become evident how little he knew about her. She liked sweets too. Had he tried to find another namesake for Yachiru, he could not have found a better one. They were so much alike. They’d get along so well and they did when he was not around. When he was, Kenpachi could see something in Retsu snap – she became more reserved towards Yachiru, still kind, but oddly careful, as if she was walking on shattered glass, always trying to distance herself sooner. He hated her, or at least he believed he did, he wanted to, but he had never felt resentment towards her for being close to Yachiru.

            “I’m going to visit Captain Ukitake and General Yamamoto’s graves today,” Retsu started, rubbing her hand in her lap, still trying to conceal whatever he made her feel when he had held it. “I can’t recall if you were close to them so you could come with me if you like. If you don’t want to catch up on sleep that is.”

            If Kenpachi had ever believed in anyone’s authority, it was Yamamoto’s, but he had never been one to mourn on graves. In the Zaraki district, someone seldom bothered to bury the dead; they disintegrated into the Soul society not as fast as they started to reek of carrion, but soon enough anyway. He never thought of burying the people he had killed. He never did. He never cared.

            He had not had time to think about burying her. He had not even thought if he could remember holding her in her final moments or simply leaving her to die alone in the dirt of Mugen. Nozarashi had spoken and drawn his attention to his sword. Next thing, he remembered was Gremmy’s face and the thud of Isane falling on the ground behind him, dazedly talking more to herself than to him, trying to grasp his words, to accept her captain’s murder. As if he ever cared about the title. It had never been his goal.

            Then, in the havoc that ensued, Yachiru went missing. The things, which held his world together, left him one by one and all at once in the matter of a day. He could not find Yachiru, he could not find the entrance to Mugen, where he fought Retsu, as if they had both disappeared into thin air. He could not even retrieve the latter’s body but he thought in some way it was for the better; there was no need to further desecrate it with his touch.

            And while Yachiru had been declared missing, Retsu was declared dead as no one could survive the injuries he had described in his report. A monument had been erected in her memory in the graveyard but he never once visited it. What was the point? He knew the grave was hollow – no body lied underneath the black dirt. If there was, maybe the drinking companionship he once had with Kyouraku would have been resumed at a different location. Only if he had had the right to grieve sitting on her grave. If he had the right to grieve at all.

            “I will come with you,” finally came his answer. Retsu simply nodded, her gaze lingering on him, before resuming her meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're getting this regretful longing in Kenpachi that I've hinted twice about what could've have been if things had been different between him and Retsu - that he would've been happy to live with her and Yachiru as a family, even if that would mean not learning his sword's name. (After not editing this fic for a month I forgot that I make myself sad with shit like this). Maybe this chapter could use a little bit of reworking in the next couple of days but as we all know December is the time to do all the things you have not done whole year, so who knows who's gonna dump everything on me (I'm looking at uni and the judges at court)
> 
> We'll be having some much needed guest appearances next chapter, so stay ready! (and leave me comments, dammit!)


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